


just friends

by sincerelysobbe



Category: WTFock | Skam (Belgium)
Genre: (for the purpose of this story we're pretending that they would go to the same university), Alternate Universe - College/University, Britt Ingelbrecht/Noor Bauwens, Friends With Benefits, M/M, Pining, Zoë Loockx/Senne De Smet - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-07
Updated: 2021-02-20
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:34:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 51,088
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27861626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sincerelysobbe/pseuds/sincerelysobbe
Summary: Months ago, after a one-night stand that couldn't stay that way, Robbe and Sander made an agreement—the two of them, no strings attached. But, Sander's feelings for Robbe were strong, to begin with, and they're growing stronger with each passing day—and he knows that he is more in love with Robbe than he should be.
Relationships: Sander Driesen/Robbe IJzermans
Comments: 53
Kudos: 256





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> IT'S HERE.

Today was just another Friday night party. The crowd in front of him was just another rotating group of party-goers that stumbled their way into the club, trying to find a way to forget all their troubles using another three pins of lukewarm beer. It was just another audience that would dance to whatever music was blasting through the speakers, who would dance with a stranger if given the chance. It was the same as the Friday night last week—and the Friday night before that—and every Friday night that he was scheduled to be here. 

The dance floor was completely covered with people whose features were hidden in the minimal lighting of the club. Occasionally, the bright magenta and blue spotlights would bathe a few of them in their bright neon light, but the majority of the club remained bathed in darkness. There were pairs, dancing together, kissing, with their arms wrapped together. For some of them, their bodies swayed together in a way that would’ve been considered indecent if they were anywhere else. There were also large groups, dancing together in large circles, swapping drinks like it was second nature with loud, joyous laughter that could be vaguely heard over the speakers. 

Standing on the stage above the crowd was Sander Driesen. 

To the party-goers on the dance floor, who had way too many drinks in their system, Sander looked something like a god, wrapped in the shadows of the stage. Occasionally, the neon spotlights would drag across his form and everyone could see how beautiful he was on the stage, lost in his element of choosing the music. His hair was a bright shade of white, standing out amongst the shadows, and his dark roots made him look more rugged than normal. The bright neon lights flashed over him again, lighting up his nose ring and his barbell earring. 

On nearly every Friday night, Sander would be up here, with a pair of headphones over his ears and with a focus of unwavering steel. He commanded the music like it was second nature, switching the songs at the precise moment that the previous song would dwindle into its final notes. He knew when to replace a slower-paced song with a song with a faster pace. As his time went on, he would remain oblivious to the joyous screams the crowd produced at each well-timed and well-needed switch; however, he would also be increasingly aware of what the party needed at each new song blasting over the speakers. 

With a brand new song thumping through the speakers, Sander glanced up toward the crowd. As if the universe had planned it, the bright magenta spotlight swiped across his face. The pink beam was hot and invading. Sander instinctively shielded his eyes, taking a step back into the safe shadows of the stage. The light quickly moved onto its next target—the drunken crowd—and Sander let out a breath of relief. 

Reaching blindly behind him, Sander found the water bottle that he had abandoned on the table behind him at the beginning of his set. As soon as the cap was off, he took a large swing of it as though it was a shot of alcohol or a full bottle of beer. The room was sweltering hot, the mass of bodies and the neon lights only made the temperature grow, but still the lukewarm water was refreshing to his parched throat. Sander couldn’t help swallowing down all of the water as he searched the crowd for his best friend.

And, in all honesty, it wasn’t that hard. 

Since they had been roomed together in their freshman year, Sander Driesen and Senne De Smet had been virtually inseparable. When you took a look at them, it had been a surprising fact, to say the least. Sander was an art student with a fascination for 80s music, photography, and anything he could create. Senne was a business major trying to find his way in the world with a hobby of partying and strumming a guitar he kept hidden away. But, they had clicked and here they were, still friends, three years later. 

So, even in the darkness of the club, it was not hard to pick out Senne in the seas of bodies, outside of the main group and leaning against a wall. In fact, it was practically second nature—especially with the number of parties that they had gone to together over the years. Currently, though, Senne was wrapped in the arms of his girlfriend, trapped against the wall by her doing so, and Sander had to laugh. From the way that Senne had insisted on coming, a thing that he never did for his longer sets like this one, Sander was not surprised to find that Zoë Loockx would be at the party. 

Not that far from the kissing couple, Sander spotted all of Zoë’s friends dancing together. There was only one that Sander knew by name—Jana—and she was dancing with the other girls, laughing with a toothy grin and a beer clutched in one hand. Her other arm was wrapped around a taller black-haired guy who was also holding a beer. Both of them were grinning as they danced with their friends, occasionally laughing. Sander knew him… or well, knew  _ of  _ him. Jens Stoffels. 

Mindlessly, Sander stepped forward, switching the current song for a new one. His body had registered the end of the song more than his brain did—the heavy bass beats from the speakers were getting lighter and lighter. Sander barely registered the crowd erupting into cheers as the new song picked up. Stepping back into the shadows, Sander went back on the hunt, now searching for a specific person that he now knew  _ had  _ to be here. 

In the crowd, Sander spotted Noor, who was dancing along the edge of the crowd. She was twirling Britt Ingelbrecht, her girlfriend, with graceful ease before they stumbled together, nearly falling over in their laughter. Next, he spotted Elias talking with his friends at the back of the club, all of them doubled over as they laughed, clapping each other’s shoulders. He found his childhood friend, and his artistic rival, Val, dancing with his girlfriend, Sophie, and he found Luka talking with someone at the bar. 

But, then,  _ finally _ , Sander found the target of his search: Robbe IJzermans. 

The guy in question was leaning against one of the walls of the club, not that far away from the stage where Sander was standing. Like Sander on the stage, he was hugged by the shadows of the club, only occasionally illuminated by the bright neon nights that swept over him. He was breath-taking and single-handedly the most beautiful person in the club—but Sander might’ve been slightly biased. To the average person, he looked skinny and frail, but Sander knew the body that was hidden away. 

Robbe laughed, shaking his head as he raised a bottle of beer to his lips to take a drink. Suddenly, someone stepped closer to Robbe, walking right into his bubble like he owned the space, and Robbe didn’t seem to mind it at all. Whoever it was—Sander didn’t recognize him but the darkness was not helping—dipped down to whisper something towards Robbe, who laughed—or giggled—and shook his head, a beautiful smile booming over his face. Robbe looked happy to be there, relaxed against the wall with his space being invaded by a stranger. 

Sander’s heart seized in what was unmistakably jealousy. 

As soon as the guy had stepped into Robbe’s space, Sander’s entire body was wanting to jump off the stage and run over to Robbe, ignoring whoever this mystery dude was, and kiss Robbe breathless like he always wanted to do. He didn’t care who would be watching them or what they would have to explain to their respective friends. However, despite his instinctual need to do so, Sander rooted himself on the stage because he knew that he couldn’t do that. Robbe was allowed to flirt—or kiss—or take home—whoever he wanted and Sander was allowed to do the same. 

Even if, to Sander, the only person he wanted to go home with was Robbe. 

But, still, whatever they had, it was nothing serious—sex with no strings attached, no commitments. It was what they had agreed upon months before—after they had hooked up at a party and Robbe snuck out while Sander was asleep, back when Sander accidentally ran into his one-night stand at a coffee shop that he worked at, and they nearly repeated that night in the bathroom on Robbe’s break. There were no strings attached, that was their agreement—even if Sander knew that he had strings attached before their first hookup even happened. 

Feeling the bass begin to dwindle against his bones, not as intense as it had been before, Sander redirected his attention back to the new task in front of him: picking a song. However, he did not need long to decide before he was switching it to a new one as the previous song faded out. The crowd cheered once again, loud and thankful. As the song kicked on and the dancing resumed, Sander slithered back into the shadows and his eyes landed on Robbe again.

Now, Robbe was standing alone, leaning against the wall still and fiddling with his now-empty hands. Without the mysterious man blocking his view, Sander could get a full look at Robbe beneath the neon lights. Unable to resist, Sander’s eyes naturally raked over Robbe’s entire body from his curly hair to his dirty sneakers. He was wearing a pair of jeans that outlined the shape of his thighs and a dark sweater that was one size too big. The neckline of the sweater dipped down, exposing the gold chain that shined brightly beneath the neon lines. 

When the mysterious man returned, with two bottles of beer in his hands, Robbe smiled up at him, that bright beautiful smile that he possessed. The stranger relinquished one of the beers to Robbe, who opened the bottle swiftly. Without looking away from the stranger, Robbe took a long drink from the beer bottle, and then, their conversation started up again. 

For a second, all Sander could do was stare at them, jealousy stirring in his heart, and let out a sigh—but then, his mind caught up with what his eyes had taken in before.  _ Wait… _ From his spot, he could vaguely see all of Robbe from his curls to his  _ jeans. _ Sander dug his phone out of his back pocket and fired off a text without even glancing at his phone. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from Robbe and the stranger, his body going into autopilot. It’s only after he sent the message that he double-checked to make sure that his message had reached its intended target… and it did. 

Sander:  _ Are you wearing skinny jeans? _

Even after the message was sent, Sander was unable to tear his eyes away from Robbe. Robbe who was leaning against the wall of the club, drinking a beer offered by a stranger, and talking about something or another… and wearing the tightest pair of jeans that Sander had ever seen him in before. Robbe was constantly unaware of the effect that he continued to have on Sander’s entire world. Now that Sander had seen him, now that he knew that Robbe was here, he was unable to tear his eyes away. 

It was only a few seconds of Sander staring at Robbe before he spotted him jolting in surprise. Robbe’s hand automatically went to the back pocket of his jeans and pulled his phone out. He sent a sympathetic look directed to the stranger. The bright flow of his phone screen illuminated his entire face, his eyes squinting down on the screen, and it’s only a few seconds before his apologetic look quickly morphed into a sly, knowing grin. 

Within seconds of Robbe typing, his phone was vibrating again. 

Robbe:  _ Maybe. _ _  
_ _ Or, skinny for me at least. _ _  
_ _ Not skinny for you. _

Sander couldn’t help the need to roll his eyes. 

Sander:  _ What bet did you lose? _ _  
_ _ I’ve never seen you in something that tight. _

When his phone buzzed again, Robbe sent another apologetic look toward the Sander. It looked like he was saying an apology even as Robbe was typing out another message. But, Sander could see the sly grin on Robbe’s features. The mere sight of the look spread an intense, hopeful warmth spread through Sander’s chest—even as he waited impatiently for his phone to buzz again with Robbe’s text. 

Robbe:  _ Milan told me to wear them. _ _  
_ _ But I don’t know why. I’ll probably never wear them again. _ _  
_ _ Do you like what you see? _

Sander really didn’t feel like he needed to answer that one. 

Sander:  _ You should wear them again. _ _  
_ _ You look good in them. _

Robbe: _ Oh, so you do like what you see? _

Sander:  _ Of course, I do. _ _  
_ _ If it’s you, I like it. _

Sander swallowed, his thumb hovering over the send key. The last message felt too close to his true feelings—the ones that were overwhelmingly risky, the ones that he kept hidden in his chest, out of sight for anyone to see—and he nearly deleted the message. But, Sander was a rebel—always daring, always pushing the boundaries of what they were—so he hit send and raised his eyes to find Robbe. 

Even as he switched over the song, not bothering to look at what it was but seeing the crowd cheer nonetheless, his eyes landed on Robbe. Sander watched him until his phone buzzed. Immediately, there was a smile that bloomed over Robbe’s face, one that surely reached his beautiful brown eyes, before he was typing out another message—the stranger long forgotten by his side. 

It didn’t take long before Sander’s phone vibrated against his palm—one, two, and three times—all in quick succession. 

Then, Robbe was looking up. His brown eyes searched the crowd briefly before moving toward the stage and landing on Sander, who was still looking at them. Once their eyes connected, even with the shadows surrounding them with so many people between them, Sander could see the smirk that encompassed his face—one that was bold and sent a shiver down his spine. After a few seconds, Sander managed to pull his eyes away to look down at the new text messages. 

No matter how much he tried to smother it, Sander was unable to squash the triumphant feeling that started soaring deep within his ribcage. 

Robbe:  _ When’s your set over? _ _  
_ _ I don’t know about you but I’m dying to get out of here. _ _  
_ _ And I could use some company.  _

Curious, Sander typed out a message. 

Sander:  _ What about that guy? He seems pretty interested in you. _

Robbe: W _ ell, he’s not the one I want to go home with. _

* * *

Sander’s set was physically incapable of ending. 

From the beginning, it had been destined to be a long set, but now it felt like torture. The DJ that normally was before him had bailed and Sander had been the only one who could fill in the spot. For the last hour of his set, Sander’s feet had been screaming in pain and he shifted from foot-to-foot in an attempt to relieve the pain. Sander was accustomed to the bright neon lights and the pounding bass—but standing on his feet for longer than normal caused the minutes to crawl by slower and slower. 

Never before had Sander ever been more thankful to have a relief who always showed up on time. 

After a few short minutes of shouting over the bass about the set, with Sander leaning against the table behind to give his feet a short break, Sander jumped off the stage and moved through the crowd. He clutched his leather jacket in one hand as he expertly weaved through the dancing bodies. When Sander had arrived, it was too hot to keep it on and the club had only increased in capacity since then. As Sander moved through the crowd, Sander searched through the sea of bodies, searching for the set of russet curls that he had lost sight of… but Robbe was nowhere to be found. Sander could see the mysterious stranger looking disgruntled at the bar—but he was completely alone. 

Sander thought about pulling out his phone to text Robbe, to see if his text had actually meant what Sander hoped it did. However, before he could put his thoughts into motion, a large hand clasped his shoulders. Not expecting it, Sander jumped but he knew without turning around that it had to be Senne. Sure enough, he was right as Senne beamed over at him, holding a bottle of beer in his hands. Zoë was right behind him, smiling over at Sander which he returned.

“It was a great set!” Senne said, having to shout over the music to be heard. 

“Oh yeah? You noticed?!” For a second, Sander wondered if he had even heard him, but the vaguely offended look that Senne had sent him was enough to tell him that he had been heard. Zoë laughed. “Considering the fact that Zoë commanded your full attention for the majority of it—props to you Zoë—I’m surprised that you noticed much of anything!”

Zoë laughed again, taking a sip of the soda in her hand. “Thank you.” 

“You’re welcome!” 

“Did you want a drink?” Zoë asked. 

“No, thank you though, I was just leaving.”

“What?” Senne questioned. He raised an eyebrow and crossed his arms over his chest, nearly spilling beer on his shirt. “Seriously? You’re leaving? You always hang out for a little bit.”

“Yeah, usually,” Sander said. Once more, he glanced around the club, working for the brunet curls—and once again, he came up empty. Even if he wasn’t going home with Robbe, Sander was going home. Turning back to Senne, he shrugged his shoulders. “But I’m meeting up with Noor in the morning to work on a project for our class—so I really don’t need to stay up and party and get wasted.” 

“Well, you can,” Senne said. 

“That’s true—but then, it won’t be good.”

“As if,” Senne scoffed. “Everything you do is amazing. In fact, I’m convinced that the art department literally worships the ground that you walk on! You could submit a piece that you worked on for half an hour and you would somehow end up getting a perfect score!” 

Sander rolled his eyes. “Now, you’re just exaggerating. But, I did just do a longer set than I normally do and I really don’t want to stay in this club for a few more hours getting wasted.” While Sander  _ was  _ willing to spend a few more hours awake, the fact still reminded that he didn’t want to be in the club any longer… or on his feet. “Do you have a ride home?” 

Senne nodded. “I do have a ride home.” 

“That’s great because I’m off,” Sander said, grinning. While Senne was disgruntled, Sander was thankful that he didn’t push him further. Before stepping away from the couple, Sander leaned towards Zoë, who looked at him in confusion. “Promise me that you’ll take care of him and make sure he gets home safe. You know how he is when he drinks.” 

Zoë smiled fondly at him. “Don’t worry, Sander, I’ve got him.”

“Thank you.” 

“You guys talk about me as if I’m not right here,” Senne said. 

Zoë laughed before reaching out to tug on Senne’s shirt. With a final wave to Sander, Zoë dragged her boyfriend back into the crowd of people, toward who Sander assumed would be her friends. While Senne had originally been confused, he wasted little time in quickly moving after her, following her like a moth to a bright flame. Right before they disappeared, Senne paused and shouted something at Sander—but his shout was drowned out by the thumping bass. 

Once they were swallowed by the crowd, Sander didn’t hesitate in making a beeline for the front door. 

Stepping out into the open air, he let out a heavy sigh, basking in the chill of the wind for a second and letting it wash over him in waves. 

Even though the club had been packed to maximum capacity, there was hardly a soul outside of it. The club itself was wedged between two identical buildings with the only difference being the bright neon blue sign with the club’s name. As he searched for someone, Sander didn’t really find the empty streets surprising. The club was built in a formerly abandoned warehouse in the industrial part of the city—so the only people who would be on the streets this late would be people headed toward or leaving the club. 

But, still, as he slipped on his leather jacket, Sander found himself searching the vacant street.

There was no one leaning against the side of the building, getting a breath of fresh air, or stumbling out to their car or going into the club. There wasn’t a soul smoking a cigarette on the curb beneath the single lamppost. There wasn’t a couple making out in the shadows of a tree. Even the alleyway was completely empty with no couple that had stumbled into the darkness for privacy. The only company that Sander had was the stray cat that darted away when the front door slammed closed and the moon peeking out from behind the clouds. 

Even though Sander’s feet screamed for instant relief—from standing, from his shoes—he found himself rooted outside the club, waiting. It was peaceful around him with the stray cat returning to where he had been before, but Sander found himself searching the street for those russet curls. He glanced down the street to his left and again at his right. He followed the sight of a zooming car and hoped that somehow Robbe would show up, with that look on his face, the sly fox that he was. 

But Robbe never appeared. 

With one last check at his phone—which had no new messages, Sander let out a sigh, which looked more like an exhale of smoke in the cold winter air. After one last futile glance around the empty street, Sander headed away from the club and toward where he had parked his car. On a normal day, the one-block trek to his car was fine—but today, it felt akin to torture with his sore feet and the missing space at his side. 

Even though Sander tried to keep their meetings to a minimum, to stop himself from being hurt, it had still become something of a ritual. Sander would play a set on Friday night—in a club, at a party, or occasionally, not and he was just a normal party-goer—and Robbe would be there, dragged along by his friends. They would find each other across the room, sending risky and daring messages when their friends weren’t looking, and they would disappear together. Somehow, none of their friends knew or suspected. Sander knew it was risky, that he would only end up hurt, but every time, he found himself gravitating towards Robbe like a magnet, ready to be with him for as long as he possibly could. 

As his sore feet screamed at him for relief, Sander wanted to turn back around and go back to the club. He wanted to find Robbe in the drunken crowd and whisper in his ear about leaving without caring who could see them. He wanted to stumble to his car with Robbe at his side, grinning from ear-to-ear as they tried to hold themselves back. At the same time, however, Robbe knew when his set was ending so if he wanted to be with Sander, like his text seemed, he would already be here. 

Sander rounded the corner to his car, pulling his ring of keys out of his pocket. As he did so, moving to unlock his car so he could go home, he heard someone say, “There you are.” Sander paused, briefly. He knew who it was—without even looking up—because his voice was ingrained in his brain, in his  _ soul _ . The voice was so familiar and sent another shot of hope through his heart. Sander glanced up toward his car and found the person he had been searching for leaning up against the door. 

Robbe was smiling over at him with that beautiful smile of his, making Sander’s heart soar just a little. In the harsh winter air, Robbe had donned his brown jacket that was a size too big and hung past his hips. His curls were poking out beneath his beanie and his cheeks were flushed as though he had been standing outside for a while. Now that Sander was closer to him—and the street was a little brighter—he could see that Robbe was  _ definitely  _ wearing skinny jeans and Sander felt his eyes linger. 

When Sander glanced back up, forcing himself to look at Robbe’s eyes before his brain could imagine what his jacket was hiding, Robbe was smiling over at him brightly as if he knew what Sander was thinking of—and he probably did. 

“Hey.” Sander took a step closer, absentmindedly unlocking the car. However, Robbe didn’t flinch or move to climb inside. Instead, he kept staring at Sander with a smile on his face. “I thought you left,” Sander said.

“Really?”

“Yeah,” Sander said. “You weren’t in the club and you weren’t outside.”

Robbe smiled, the corner of his lips tugging up and exposing his dimples. “My mom called me right before your set was ending so I thought it would be a good idea to wait for you by your car,” Robbe said. There was a pause in the air between them before Robbe added, “And, besides, I would never leave without you.” 

Sander felt his heart thump in his chest and he ignored it. “Ah. How did you know where I parked my car?” 

“Sander,” Robbe said, shaking his head in disbelief. “You always park your car here—every time like clockwork. Whenever you’re doing a set at this club, your car is always parked right here.”

“And, what if I didn’t?” 

“Well, I would’ve found you,” Robbe said. His words sounded like a confession like it was the simplest and easiest thing in the world.

Even though he knew it was a futile attempt, Sander tried to hold back his heart, which felt close to bursting out of his chest to glow and soar in the air between them without restraint. But, the more that he tried, the more it seemed to grow brighter and blinding, spreading through his body like a wildfire. 

Robbe seemed to constantly have that effect on him—to set him on fire in the harshest winter storm the universe could give. But, it wasn’t the kind of fire that consumed everything within its path, burning until it’s ash, and scorching the ground beneath. No, the fire that Robbe ignited was a healing fire. It was as if Robbe could look at him or hold him and be able to heal his deepest and darkest scars that he kept hidden from view. 

Biting down on his lip, Sander smirked over at him. “Yeah, how would you find me in such a large crowd?” 

“Easy,” Robbe said. “I’ll look for the few bleach-blond heads in the club and find the one with a black leather jacket and there you are.” The snort that Sander emitted caught him off-guard, but it caused Robbe to giggle loudly. “Plus, the neon lights work in my favor. It makes your hair stand out.”

“Yeah,” Sander said. “That is true.” 

Robbe smiled over at him. It was one of those bright smiles that made Sander’s insides go fuzzy—the type of smiles that Sander selfishly wanted only for himself. Robbe held out his arms, making a grabbing motion toward him, and Sander smiled, knowing what he wanted. While there was a part of him that wanted to draw it out, to make Robbe squirm in the way he did whenever he had to wait, Sander was growing more impatient with each drawn-out second. So, Sander stepped into Robbe’s embrace, feeling him latch onto the lapels of Sander’s leather jacket with a vice grip, and pressed their lips together. 

Once their lips met—Robbe’s were, unsurprisingly, cold to the touch—Sander slumped against his body, pressing Robbe flush between him and the car door. He kissed Robbe like he was starved, teetering on the edge of sheer desperation. His hands wandered across Robbe’s body, mapping out the muscles he knew were hidden beneath his winter coat. But, to Sander’s sheer delight, Robbe kissed him back, seemingly just as desperate, tugging on the lapels of his jacket, bringing their bodies together as he swiped his tongue across Sander’s bottom lip. 

Without hesitation, never one to deny Robbe anything that he asked for, Sander opened his mouth and Robbe’s tongue, warm and hot, slipped in his mouth. 

The kiss instantly turned messy, tongues mapping out the familiar path of their mouths. Robbe reached up, running his ice-cold fingers through Sander’s hair before grasping at the strands. A pleased noise left Sander’s mouth, muffled slightly by Robbe’s mouth, and he could feel Robbe smile. Sander slid his hands down Robbe’s back, his mind filling in the spots that the winter coat had hidden away. Once he reached his hips, Sander slid his hands beneath his coat and under his sweater, the tips of his fingers finding the warm skin of Robbe’s stomach, the muscles shifting beneath his fingertips. 

Robbe gasped. “Fuck,” Robbe said, breaking the kiss and leaning against him. On instinct, Sander opened his eyes and stared at Robbe. His eyes were pressed closed, his lips shining. The mere sight of Robbe looking so out of breath and dazed made Sander want to lean forward and kiss him again. Before he could, however, Robbe’s eyes fluttered open and a playful grin tugged on his lips as he said, “Your hands are fucking freezing, Sander. Worse than usual.” 

Sander scoffed. “As if yours are any better.” Robbe smiled up at him beautifully. “Maybe,” Sander said, not removing his hands. As Sander pressed his palm against his stomach, Robbe’s muscles shifted. “You should warm them up for me.” Sander slipped his other hand to his lower back and Robbe gasped, leaning against him. “Or do you want my hand somewhere else?” 

Robbe glanced up at him, biting down on his swollen bottom lip. His brown eyes were blown wide as they darted across Sander’s face before settling down on his lips. Robbe ran his hands through Sander’s hair before bringing their lips back together. Sander slid his hands down Robbe’s side, feeling him shiver beneath his palm. Sander purposely slid his hands past the waist of his jeans, down to the curve of his ass, and dragged their hips together. Robbe let out a groan, tilting his head back as his body instinctively arched against Sander’s. 

Sander dived in, pressing his lips hard against Robbe’s, but he quickly pulled away. Robbe let out a frustrated whine, trying to chase after Sander, gripping hard on his hair, but Sander tilted out of his grasp. “My place or yours?” Sander asked, his voice huskier than normal. He let out a sigh as Robbe unabashedly stared at his lips, obvious and wanting. “Please say yours.”

Robbe’s lips turned up as his eyes fluttered down. “Yours.”

Sander laughed. “Okay. But you have to leave early before Zoë catches you.” 

Robbe chuckled, smiling a grin that made him look high and dopey, like he was walking on air—and Sander felt like his heart was bursting out his chest. “I’m kidding,” Robbe said, sounding drunk. He leaned forward, pressing a featherlight kiss against his lips, and stayed close when their lips disconnected. “Mine.” Another kiss—this time hot and desperate and lingering. “Please.”

Sander kissed him again, longer and fleeting, before pulling back and whispering, their lips brushing together agonizingly, “Okay.”

* * *

The entire ride over to Robbe’s apartment building was torture. 

It wasn’t a long drive. The apartment was a ten-minute bike-ride away from their campus and the coffee shop where Robbe worked—which meant that it was about a five-minute drive from the club with typical normal traffic. By some piece of divine intervention, there was hardly any night-time traffic. All the traffic from the bars—the ones that were in a hurry to get home or simply bouncing from one bar to another—were gone and they had arrived so quickly that Robbe accused him of speeding.

But, that wasn’t what made the drive torturous… it was the fact that Robbe seemed to be incapable of keeping his hands to himself. Normally, Sander did not mind. He thrived off the small touches especially when Robbe did not seem to notice when he did so. But, right now, it was distracting and teasing—and making the minutes drag on longer than it should’ve been.

For the first three minutes of their drive, Robbe had absentmindedly reached for him, weaving his fingers through the hair at the base of Sander’s neck. Sander leaned back into Robbe’s hand and absentmindedly let out a hum. Robbe chuckled as though he wasn’t aware of the effect he had on Sander. Robbe moved his hand from Sander’s hair, across his shoulders, down his side, before settling on his thigh. The palm of his hand burned through the fabric of Sander’s jeans, sending his nerves into an electric overdrive. 

Sander sighed. 

“What?” Robbe asked. 

“You need to stop doing that,” Sander said. 

“Doing what?” 

Robbe’s question sounded innocent enough. However, Sander didn’t even need to look at his face to know that his smile was split into a Cheshire grin. He could hear it in the lift of his voice and felt it in the way his hand squeezed Sander’s thigh a little tighter. Once the car stopped at a red light, Sander glanced to Robbe who had turned in his seat with a sly grin on his lips—one that Sander wanted to kiss-off. Immediately. When their eyes connected, the corner of his lips rose a little higher, the divots of his dimples popping up.

Once they arrived at Robbe’s apartment, Sander was intent on getting his revenge on Robbe. When they were alone in the ascending elevator, Sander wasted no time in pinning Robbe against the wall and kissed him breathless, letting his hands wander across his body. Once the elevator stopped, Robbe guided Sander out of the elevator, steering him backward by the lapels of his leather jacket. As he was led backward, Sander pressed harsh kisses against the curve of Robbe’s neck, never relenting even as Robbe struggled with unlocking the door. 

Once they stumbled into the one-bedroom apartment, Robbe wasted no time in shoving Sander up against the wall—the front door slamming closed behind them. Robbe shoved his own beanie off his head before fisting his hands back in Sander’s hair… hard. The action forced Sander’s onslaught into a ceasefire as a moan escaped his lips. Robbe swallowed the last half of it, their lips pushing together. 

The kiss was all teeth and tongue, sloppy and desperate and charged. Both of them were too high, too turned on, to do anything more eloquent than the sloppy kiss. For a few minutes, that’s all they did, their hands running over each other with a frightening intensity, never able to stop too long before they were moving onto the next place. Sander ran his hands through Robbe’s curls, tugging hard, and Robbe let out a broken moan that was smothered by another blazing, intense kiss. 

Robbe tugged on Sander’s leather jacket before he pushed it off his shoulders. “Off.” Sander nodded, pushing back Robbe’s jacket as well. Their lips slotted back together, relentless, as Sander stripped himself of his leather jacket, discarding it on the floor. Sander heard something drop to the floor before their chests were pressed back together again, no jacket hindering their skin from pressing together. As Robbe kicked off his shoes, their mouths still connected, Sander leaned on one foot to crudely untie his laces until he could pull them off with a minimum struggle. 

As Sander discarded his boots beside him, Robbe fisted the fabric of his shirt and guided him back to the bedroom. Sander dropped his hands to Robbe’s waist, holding them close together. Their lips were still joined together, never letting up from the constant and desperation that was coursing through their veins. One of Robbe’s hands disappeared from Sander’s shirt, reaching out behind him. Sander heard the door open behind them and seconds later, Robbe was pushing him back further into the room. 

When the back of his knees hit the edge of the bed, Sander fell against the mattress—or maybe, his clouded mind managed to piece together, he was pushed onto it—and he lost his grip on Robbe. Sander was barely given a chance to gather his bearings before Robbe was climbing on his lap, pressing his hands on Sander’s chest. With a knowing smile on his lips, Robbe sank down on his lap and slid his hands down Sander’s chest, edging closer and closer to his belt. 

In the minimal lighting of Robbe’s bedroom, Sander could tell that Robbe’s eyes were blown wide with lust and anticipation. For a second, Sander thought that Robbe was going to lean down and kiss him. He pushed himself up on his elbows and Robbe’s eyes moved down Sander’s chest, slowly as though he was taking him all in before his gaze returned. Once their eyes connected, Robbe leaned toward him, agonizingly slow, and Sander pushed himself up to meet him, their mouths meeting in the middle. 

The kiss was too long, too agonizingly slow for how turned on and desperate they had been a few moments ago. Sander grabbed at Robbe’s sweater, pulling it up and over Robbe’s head, before pressing an open-mouth kiss against the collarbone that he uncovered. Once the fabric was off, once Robbe was left shirtless on his lap, it was as though all the desperation returned to their bodies in one swing as they kissed again, more bruising and desperate than the one before. Their combined strength, clawing at Sander’s shirt nearly ripped the fabric down the seam, and they separated only to get it over Sander’s head. 

As Robbe reached down to undo the buttons of his jeans, Sander seized Robbe by the waist and hurled him onto the bed. He landed against his pillows—a calculated move on Sander’s part—and recovered quickly, reaching out for his jeans again, returning to what he had started. Once the buttons were undone, Robbe pushed them off Sander’s hips, hooking the fabric of his boxers beneath his thumbs, and Sander kicked them off, not bothering to see where they landed. 

As their lips dragged back together, Sander set himself to the task of undoing Robbe’s jeans before hooking his fingers in the waistband and pulling. When the jeans barely moved, Sander broke the kiss, letting out a breath, “Fuck. How tight are these jeans?”

For a second, Robbe blinked up at him before giggling madly, “What?” 

“Are these glued to you?” Sander asked, pushing harder. The fabric moved down his thighs and Sander leaned back to focus on stripping the jeans off Robbe’s legs. Robbe let out a laugh, throwing his head back on the pillow and Sander pouted, frighteningly aware of the warmth blooming in his chest. “Hey, don’t laugh at me! It’s harder than it looks.”

“Yeah?” Robbe said, arching his hips off the bed to help him.

“Yeah.”

Once the jeans were at his ankles, Robbe kicked aside the jeans before his arms reached for Sander, grabbing at his shoulders and tugging. Sander crawled back over him, leaning over him as Robbe ran his fingers back through his hair. A beautiful but smug smile blossomed over Robbe’s face. There was the mischievous twinkle in his eye that Sander knew—and loved. “Now, you know how I feel.”

A snort ripped through Sander as he shook his head. There was a light giggle from Robbe before he leaned up, pressing their lips together. At first, the kiss was soft and gentle. But, it quickly changed as Robbe slid his tongue across Sander’s bottom lip. The desperation in his stomach fired up again sending chills all over Sander’s body as he sunk against him. Robbe’s fingers dug into Sander’s shoulder blades, pulling them closer and closer, and Sander relished in the sound of Robbe’s hitched breath that escaped into their kiss. 

Being with Robbe was something dangerous—for him, for his heart, for his own sanity—but, fuck, it felt too good to stop. 

* * *

Even after all this time, being with Robbe felt like a novelty. 

Whenever they decided that they couldn’t wait any longer, it always felt like the two of them were on a desperate race to the finish line. By the time the two of them got back to one of their apartments—or, occasionally when they were too desperate and too impatient, somewhere with decent privacy—they were both too turned on and strung out to do anything but desperately rid each other of their clothes. They would fumble with their belt buckles, practically ripping off their shirts, all too eager to uncover and unwrap every inch of skin they could get. Their mouths would be relentless, trailing a path across every spot of hot, flushed skin before moving back to their mouths and swallowing up their moans. 

Somewhere, there would always be a shift—a switch that inevitably flips on them without realizing. Their hurried fast-paced desperation would quickly be replaced with the need to draw the sex out as long as physically possible. Their kisses would turn slow and deliberate, their hands traveling slowly over the uncovered skin. Most of the time, the realization would hit Sander first and he would be the one to slow down. The switch in pace would always leave Robbe in a state of desperation that would only increase as Sander would tease him further. However, sometimes, it would hit Robbe first and he would enact his revenge on the desperate Sander. 

No matter the reason, no matter how long or short it took—or whether it was Sander teasing Robbe or vice versa, it never stopped being absolutely mind-blowing. At first, Sander thought it was just him—maybe it was just the hidden feelings of his that made it feel this way. But then, one night, Robbe had breathed out the same thought as him and Sander knew it wasn’t just him. It wasn’t just the lingering feelings in his heart that he was trying to ignore. It was real and they both felt it. 

But, despite how mind-blowing the sex was,  _ this  _ was Sander’s favorite part. 

Once they would clean themselves up, Robbe was always half-asleep, blissed out and exhausted, his cheek pressed against Sander’s biceps. When they retreat to Robbe’s apartment, he was never trying to push him out like he was some dirty secret that he needed to keep hidden—even with his former roommates a few apartments down, armed with a spare key. In fact, Robbe did not seem to want him to leave—much like Sander felt. 

Tonight, once they were spent and had cleaned themselves with one of their boxers, Robbe snuggled closer to him, wrapping his arms tightly around Sander’s torso. He buried his face into the crook of Sander’s neck, his nose nudging against the junction between it and his shoulder. Sander pulled him closer, wrapping his arm tightly around his shoulders and running his hand through Robbe’s russet curls. As Sander pressed a kiss against the top of his head, Robbe let out a muffled hum before his arms got heavier, the sure tail sign that Robbe was out like a light.

If Sander could stay like this forever, with a sleeping and blissed-out Robbe half on-top of him, he would. Not that he would ever,  _ ever  _ admit that to Robbe. It was safer for everyone—including Sander’s heart—for it to stay that way.

Whenever they would meet up and after Robbe would fall asleep, Sander would always lose track of the time that he laid away. No matter the setting—his own bedroom or Robbe’s—Sander would always have a difficult time falling asleep. He would toss and turn for hours before sleep overcame him. His mind was spinning, always constantly moving, and there was never an exception. 

So, instead, he would lay awake, savoring the feeling of Robbe pressing against him, and let his mind trick him into imagining a time where it would be permanent. A time where Sander would always fall asleep with Robbe tucked against his side, their legs intertwined together, naked or not. A time where they would get their own apartment together to call their home. A time where they would even get a dog or a cat of their own, to curl up beside them at night. A time where Sander would draw Robbe without having to do it all from memory. 

Robbe let out a small breath and Sander turned to look at him—or as best he could. 

Even in sleep, his cheek squished against Sander’s chest, Robbe was absolutely beautiful. His mouth had fallen partially open, emitting little sighs with each exhale. There was a constellation of freckles along his cheekbones and Sander was tempted to reach out and trace them all. The spots where Sander bit down on his lips were still a bright shade of red. There was a handful of red—fading into purple—splotches up and down his neck, the aftermath of Sander’s unrelenting mouth. 

Robbe let out a small sigh of contentment as Sander pressed a kiss against his forehead and Sander tried to ignore the way that his heart practically did somersaults in his chest. Dropping one of his arms from Robbe’s shoulders, he ran his hand across Robbe’s back. Beneath his palms, he could feel the defined muscles that Sander had practically committed to memory. As Sander ran his hand down his side, Robbe’s nose scrunched up before he let out a barely noticeable noise of discomfort. 

A second later, Robbe managed to breathe out, “Your hand is fucking cold, Sander.”

Sander halted his movements, resting his hand on Robbe’s waist. “Sorry,” he said. 

The word was practically a whisper, barely audible even to his own ears. Yet, somehow, Robbe managed to hear it all the same, because he breathed out a sleepy, “Is okay.” Robbe shifted further against him, somehow managing to make their two bodies more flushed together than they were before. With his beautiful brown eyes pinched shut, Robbe reached blindly, finding the hand resting against his hip. Immediately, Robbe wrapped his hand around Sander’s, slotting their fingers together effortlessly. 

Sander chuckled, shaking his head before resting it on top of Robbe’s. “I thought you just said that my hand was cold,” Sander teased. 

Even though Robbe’s face was partially hidden, Sander could still make out the corner of his lips tugging up in a smile, exposing his laugh lines. “You’re right,” he said. Robbe’s thumbs brushed across his knuckles as he shifted his weight. “I’m trying to warm it up.” 

“Ah, that’s very thoughtful of you. Thank you.” 

“You’re welcome.” 

As Robbe settled against his side, his breathing getting lighter, Sander glanced around the bedroom that he had come to know, running his free hand through his companion’s russet curls. 

The only light in the bedroom was the white light seeping in through the windows, cutting a strip of light across their legs and across the floor. Across the room, Sander could barely make out Robbe’s skateboard leaning against his dresser and the surfboard hidden behind the open closet door. As if his interests weren’t enough, there was even a guitar located at the foot of the bed. Robbe’s desk looked like it was littered with notebooks and papers. In the middle of the room, there was a mountain of laundry that they miraculously didn’t trip over in their desperate and dazed path to the bed. 

Spotting a sudden flash of green, Sander turned his head and found the source of the light. Sitting in the middle of Robbe’s nightstand, there was a large black camera. The lens was pointed toward the bedroom dorm which led to the hallway. On the top, there was a green light that shined onto the wall behind it and there was a large black cord that disappeared behind the nightstand. It wasn’t like any of the ones that Sander had used before—or owned. 

Sander glanced back at Robbe. As he did, the boy let out a small sigh, snuggling further against Sander’s shoulders—and Sander felt a small smile tugging up on the corners of his lips. 

Robbe had mentioned that he had an interest in film-making before—and that film-making was his minor for his degree. Sander knew that Robbe helped with filming his friends’ vlogs, but he had never seen Robbe’s camera before. It was always tucked away in a drawer, but Sander had no doubt in his mind that Robbe was brilliant. Sander had always been eager to see Robbe’s work—to confirm his suspicions on Robbe being a film-making prodigy—but, whenever he asked, Robbe would always brush a bright shade of red, insisting that he would show Sander the final project when he was done. 

Curious about the camera, Sander gently slipped his hand out from beneath Robbe’s, letting his hand settle gently against the sheets beneath. Moving gingerly, Sander reached over to the camera and wrapped his hand around the top. Despite his curiosity about Robbe’s projects, he intended to simply turn the camera so he could see the label. As he started to turn the camera, Robbe shifted against him, his hand reaching out to cover Sander’s. For a second, the two of them simply sat there before Robbe gave his hand a gentle squeeze and his lips curled up against his jawline. 

“Didn’t your mama teach you not to look at other people’s things?” Robbe asked. His lips brushed against Sander’s jaw before Robbe opened his mouth to place a lingering wet kiss against the skin there. The action was so unexpected that Sander shivered beneath his touch and sucked in a sharp breath. Robbe smirked before moving to press more open-mouth kisses against his neck. 

“Sorry,” Sander managed. Robbe pressed another kiss against his jaw before propping himself up. Sander expected him to be mad, but there was no trace of anger on Robbe’s face. His bright brown eyes were filled with sleep and warmth as he stared down at him. Sander let out a breath, reaching up to cup his face. “I was just curious about the brand. I know how much effort you put into what you film.” 

“It’s okay,” Robbe said sleepily. Turning toward the camera, Robbe pulled Sander’s hand off, slotting their fingers together again. Sander couldn’t ignore the way that his heart beat faster in his chest as Robbe lowered their intertwined hands on Sander’s chest. Finally, Robbe looked up at him, flashing him a smile, as he teasingly said, “Maybe, next time, you should ask.” 

“Oh? There’s a next time?” Sander asked. 

Robbe’s gaze faltered briefly before it vanished like it had never been there in the first place. Sander noticed the looking, his mind spinning in a way to try and backtrack, but before he could, Robbe was speaking, a sly smile on his face. “Don’t you want a next time?”

“Yes,” Sander admitted. He traced his thumb across Robbe’s bottom lip, the small breath of “Always” tumbling out of his mouth before he even realized he said it. Once his words caught up to him, Sander’s entire body froze, rigid with his thumb pressed against the corner of Robbe’s lips. Glancing up at Robbe, he could not see any realization in his ideas and Sander swallowed before asking, “Do you want there to be a next time?”

Robbe smiled. “Of course.” 

Sander’s lips quickly grew into a smile and Robbe leaned down to kiss it. Their lips slotted together easily as their bodies were pressed flush together once again. Sander reached up to dig his free hand into Robbe’s curls and Robbe made a noise against his lips, moving to straddle him. Their clasped hands remained between their chests, unwilling to let go of their hands for a second. Robbe squeezed his hand before separating their lips. As soon as their lips were separated, Robbe trailed his lips across Sander’s cheek, down his jawline, before settling against his neck, sucking on the flesh. 

Sander groaned. “Don’t start something you can’t finish.”

Robbe snorted. “Says you,” he said before returning to press kisses against his neck. After three more, he pulled back, enough for Sander to look him in the eye. There was a playful glint in his beautiful brown eyes that Sander wanted to kiss away. “How many times have you started something and got me all riled up that you swore you would finish then never did?” 

“I had every intention of finishing what I started,” Sander said. 

“Mhmm?” Robbe hummed, kissing him again. 

“But,” Sander said, separating their lips. “I really should get going. It’s getting late.” 

Even though he wasn’t fully aware of the time, Sander knew that it had to be late. The street outside had been completely empty and there hadn’t been a soul in sight for hours. Not even a car had driven by too loudly to alert him to the changing world. Yet, despite his words, Sander made no effort to move or get Robbe off his lap. Instead, he held Robbe steady as he leaned off the bed toward his discarded jeans, using both hands to search for his phone. Once Robbe’s phone lit up, shining them in a white light that had them squinting to see the time, Sander had his suspicions confirmed. 

3:40.

Sander let out a sigh, running a hand through his hair. “If I get home after Senne gets up…”

Robbe dropped the phone against the bed, forgotten. “Shhh,” he said, holding Sander’s cheeks. Robbe kissed him again, their lips sliding together in a rhythm that they knew. Sander kissed him back, grabbing and tugging on Robbe’s curls, pulling him impossibly closer. Robbe mirrored his actions, sliding one of his hands back to run his fingers through the hair at his nape. Separating slightly, Robbe breathed out, “You know you don’t have to leave.” 

Sander cradled Robbe’s face. “I know.”

“So, stay.” 

Robbe said it so easily, as though he was asking Sander to pass the milk. Still perched on Sander’s lap, Robbe was looking down at him with those warm brown eyes that changed his stomach into goo. Sander’s heart pounded in his chest. Robbe didn’t know how those words made him forget the lines of their agreement and teetering dangerously close to something else. Sander knew that Robbe didn’t mean it like the way he wanted him to, for them to stay  _ together _ as something more, but it didn’t stop Sander from hoping anyway. 

Robbe leaned closer, brushing their noses together as his eyes fluttered close. “Please.”

Sander swallowed, all fight to refuse leaving his body instantly. As he said, Sander was never able to deny Robbe anything that he asked for—even when his brain is telling him that he should leave. “Okay,” he said, letting out a breath. “I’ll stay.” 

Robbe smiled before he was leaning toward him, closing the distance between them again. This time, the kiss was softer, gentler. Their lips moved against each other slowly. Robbe’s tongue slid across Sander’s bottom lip before moving inside, his hands gripping a little tighter at the hair at the base of his neck. Robbe gently pushed Sander back onto the pillow without breaking their lips. 

Soon, the kiss ended and Robbe pressed their foreheads together. For three heartbeats, they laid like that before Sander yawned. The action caused Robbe to chuckle before there was a look of concern that crossed his face. “Sander, did you get any sleep?”

Sander thought about lying to Robbe, saying that he did get some sleep but that Robbe had moved, jostling him awake. But, even though he wanted to, so he could put Robbe’s worries at ease, Sander knew that he couldn’t lie to Robbe. “No.” 

Robbe nodded, simply staring at him. After a few moments, Robbe leaned closer to him. Sander watched him, uncertain to what he was doing before he felt Robbe’s mouth against his cheek. As Robbe moved off his lap and pressed another kiss against his cheek, Sander’s eyes fluttered closed instantly, leaning back against the pillow. Seconds later, Sander felt Robbe’s lips against his left eyebrow, pressing a kiss against his scar—then he pressed a kiss against both of Sander’s eyelids. Finally, the pillow beneath him moved as Robbe rested against it, feeling a soft kiss being placed against his shoulder. 

“Get some sleep, Sander,” Robbe said, his breath ghosting against Sander’s ear. 

Letting out a sigh as Robbe ran his hands through his hair, Sander said, “Okay.” As his brain started to process that he was sleepy, Sander could feel his hand being enveloped with a warmth that had to be Robbe’s hand. Their fingers slotted together easily and Sander gave his hand a gentle squeeze, his heart thumping as Robbe squeezed back. 

Somehow, at Robbe’s request, sleep came easier to him than normal. His body had been exhausted and strained from staying up late. His mind was surprisingly quiet, no longer swirling and twisting, his swirling thoughts halted to a stop. The feeling of Robbe next to him—their hands intertwined together—and the warmth that radiated from his skin made him feel safe and secure. Sander shifted, searching out Robbe until their foreheads were brushed together. 

As Robbe gave Sander’s hand a reassuring squeeze and pressed their foreheads together, sleep finally overcame him.

* * *

Once the elevator doors closed behind him, and the sounds of the busy lobby came to a screeching halt, Sander let out a sigh and slumped against the wall. 

Even though he had arrived back still relatively early for a Saturday morning, the lobby had been busier than he had expected. There were a handful of kids running across the tile, screaming excitedly, as their parents chased after them and reminded them to use their inside voice. Two of the girls down the hall—whose names Sander could never remember—were headed out for a jog and had stopped to chat with him for a few moments. Even Shelby, the front desk person, had seemed rather frazzled, calming down a raging tenant while having the landline pressed against her ear. 

As the elevator started its long, agonized ascent to the top floor—the only downside to living with Senne De Smet in the penthouse was the slow-ass elevator—Sander pulled his phone from his pocket. Quickly, he navigated to his messages with Noor and quickly typed out a message. He snuck a glance at the ones from earlier in the morning—the ones that had been so rude to wake him up out of the deepest sleep he had gotten in ages—before pressing send. 

Sander:  _ At apartment. Quick shower then I’ll head that way. _ _  
_ _ Sorry for sleeping in. _

As the elevator continued its ascent, Sander waited patiently for Noor to respond to his update. In an effort to get him awake, she had threatened to leave the library—to leave him alone without getting her advice on his project. However, when the small gray button popped up, indicating that she was typing a response back to him, Sander felt the tension in his shoulders break a little. A second later, the message popped up at the bottom of the screen.

Noor:  _ It’s okay. I’m still here. _ _  
_ _ Don’t rush. Britt and I are going to get coffee. _ _  
_ _ Library’s café is closed. Want anything? _

Sander:  _ My usual. _

Noor:  _ Which usual are you referring to? _ _  
_ _ You have 50. _

Sander:  _ Surprise me. _ _  
_ _ I’ll give you money when I get there. _

Noor:  _ If you’re expecting me to argue, I’m not. _

Sander:  _ No arguments. My treat. _

Tucking his phone back into his pocket, Sander leaned his head against the wall and shoved his hands deep into the pockets of his jeans. Even leaning against the wall, his entire body was screaming at him in exhaustion. His limbs felt heavy and, even though he needed Noor’s help on this project, all Sander wanted to do was to go back to sleep. Every day, Senne would always tease him about being an old soul with his love of David Bowie and inability to use technology; but this would be one of the rare times that Senne would be right. 

As Sander watched the elevator number keep going up and up, his stomach twisted, churning uncomfortably but Sander did not know whether or not it was because of the ascent of the elevator or because of the guilt of leaving Robbe without waking him up. 

Sander closed his eyes.  _ Robbe _ .

Sander had woken up to his phone constantly dinging across the room—Noor’s initial flurry of angry text messages. His phone was trapped in the pocket of his jeans, still laying where Sander had kicked them off last night. At first, his sleep-infused brain wanted to ignore the texts, snuggle back into Robbe’s sheets, and go back to sleep. But, then, he remembered about his plans to meet Noor at the library and practically bolted from the bed to get to his phone. 

After Sander begged for forgiveness from one of his closest friends, he looked back toward Robbe. Despite the spamming messages and Sander bolting from the bed, cursing beneath his breath, Robbe was still fast asleep in the bed. The warm morning sun streamed over him, bathing him in an orange glow. The light casted a halo around Robbe’s curls, making him look like an angel. His arm was thrown out over the empty space that Sander had taken up, his hand fisting the sheets. 

Careful not to wake Robbe up, Sander collected his clothes that were scattered across the bedroom floor and placed them down on the edge of the bed. He got dressed, doing his best not to make any sounds in fear of waking him up. Once Sander finished, buttoning his jeans, he swiped a fresh piece of paper from Robbe’s desk and a black pen. In the walk between the desk and the bed, he scratched out a message—a habit they had to leave abruptly—and propped the note up against Robbe’s camera. 

Glancing at Robbe, sleeping soundly and unaware, Sander had found himself hesitating. 

This part was always the hardest: leaving Robbe. 

Every time, Sander would find himself hesitating to leave Robbe—or hesitating to let Robbe leave his apartment—and he would find excuses to pull him back, to wrap together, or maybe kiss him one or two more times. Every time, Robbe would shake his head in disbelief and giggle so sweetly before indulging his every whim until they couldn’t anymore—usually because they had plans with someone else. It was the part of Sander’s heart that wanted something more than their arrangement, that wanted Robbe completely and irrevocably his—forever. 

Without fully realizing what he was doing, Sander had realized that he was leaning onto Robbe’s bed. It was like he was seeing himself outside his body, watching his own body lean over Robbe. Sander leaned down, closer and closer to Robbe, and pressed his lips gently against Robbe’s forehead. Even with the gentle movement, Robbe stirred beneath his kiss. His nose scrunched up cutely and he leaned up against Sander’s lips before shifting, pressing his face further into his pillow. 

Swallowing, with his cheeks burning what must’ve been a bright red, Sander had grabbed his Docs and his leather jacket before leaving the apartment, locking the door using the spare key that Robbe had kept hidden beneath the doormat. 

“Sander?” The sound of his name brought him back to the present. He was stepping into his apartment that he shared with Senne, holding his keys in his hand. After coming to, he was hit with the smell of freshly brewed coffee and he could hear the microwave running. There were sounds coming from the kitchen which meant that someone was cooking. “Is that you?” Zoë called. 

Closing the door behind him, Sander called into the apartment, “Yeah, it’s me!” He leaned against the wall, tugging off his Docs, and placing them down inside the foyer. Shoving his hands deep into his pockets, Sander moved toward the kitchen, following the voices of his best friend and his girlfriend. 

Senne was standing at the microwave, seemingly heating up something in the microwave. He was dressed in a pair of joggers and a gray shirt that hung on him. Near him, Zoë was sitting up on the counter with her feet crossed beneath her. She had a coffee mug in her hands—one of the David Bowie ones that Senne had gotten him and the one with his portrait on it—and she smiled at him as he entered the kitchen. 

“Good morning,” Zoë said, which he echoed quietly. She gestured beside her to the coffee pot—the rather expensive one that Sander and Senne had agreed on because of their mutual obsession with well-made coffee—and smiled over at him. “There's a full pot of coffee if you want to have some. It’s only a few minutes old.”

Sander smiled, moving toward her. “Thanks,” he said. Zoë ducked her head so Sander could reach into the cabinet above her. Even though Sander would only get to drink one cup, he pulled out another one of his David Bowie mugs—the one with the red lightning bolt—and poured himself a cup. He quickly took a drink and said, “I’m definitely going to need it. I see that you’ve got him in the kitchen.”

Zoë laughed as the microwave went off. “He went out to get croissants this morning.”

“Ah,” Sander said. 

“Did you want one? I bought extras.” Senne asked, pulling the plate out of the microwave. There were at least five croissants on the plate and Senne immediately put on in his mouth. “What are you even doing home this early? I figured you would be out most of the morning doing that project with Noor. You can’t be done already.”

“I haven’t gone to meet her yet,” he said. Senne placed one of the croissants on a smaller plate. Sander leaned up against the counter beside Zoë, taking a sip of his coffee. “I’m just here to grab a few things and then I’m headed out to meet her.” 

Immediately, Senne turned around, staring at him in confusion. The croissant that he had been munching on was hanging comically from his mouth. He passed the small plate to Zoë. As he did so, Senne took in Sander’s appearance—the same skinny jeans, the same t-shirt—and his mouth quickly tugged up into an all-knowing grin. “ _ Oh,  _ and where have you been exactly?” 

“At a friend’s,” Sander said, hoping it would satisfy Senne’s growing curiosity—at least while Zoë was here or at the very least in the room with them. The last thing that Sander wanted to talk about was how he had been secretly sleeping with Robbe IJzermans—the guy that Zoë considered a little brother. However, Senne’s curiosity did not seem to be satisfied.

“Oh, yeah?” he asked, holding out a croissant to Sander. 

“Yes,” Sander said, taking it. “I knew there was a likelihood that you guys would be coming back to our apartment and, since I was meeting Noor on a project, I actually wanted some sleep last night, thank  _ you _ very much. And, then I overslept all of my alarms.” 

Sander was nearly certain that he heard Zoë snort next to him. The latter part of his sentence had been directed towards Senne, who grinned over at him. Shaking his head, Senne asked, “Who let you sleep on their couch?” 

Robbe’s name was frozen on the tip of his tongue, but Sander held himself back from saying it. 

There was no harm in saying Robbe’s name. 

Since Zoë and Senne had formally started dating, the two of them had been introduced—though no one knew of their secret agreement—and they had been friends, hanging out together in their group gatherings from time-to-time. Outside of having sex when no one was paying attention, they did get along well together. Plus, Robbe was a caring soul. He was the type of person that would’ve offered his couch if Sander needed it—in fact, he already had last month when their A.C. went out. All Sander had to do was send Robbe a text and he would say the same thing should Zoë ever ask. 

But, Senne and Sander had been friends, and roommates, for years now. Even if he hadn’t been trying, Senne could read him like a book, from cover-to-cover, and know exactly what was happening. After this long, it was practically second-nature. On rare occasions, Senne would know of his feelings before Sander had time to process them completely. If Sander said that he stayed over at Robbe’s, Senne would see right through him and know that he was keeping something back. 

And he was. 

It was for that reason that, after all these months, Senne still did not know that it was Robbe who Sander was sleeping with. He had spotted the bruises that adorned Sander’s neck and collarbones from time to time and had asked him about it. Sander had told him that he was sleeping with someone but refused to give a name. If Sander said Robbe’s name, Senne would finally make that connection and would see right into his heart, to the feelings that he kept buried within. 

Swallowing, Sander said, “Just a girl from my art history class, Sarah.” Was there even a girl named Sarah in his art history class? He wasn’t sure. Feeling the shame of lying to his best friend, Sander took a final long drink of his coffee. Senne watched him curiously as Sander pushed himself off the counter. “I need to get a new change of clothes and my school bag and leave before Noor decides to murder me and hide the body in the woods or something.”

“Yeah,” Senne said. 

Sander placed his mug in the sink. He made sure to fill it with water, to get the remaining coffee residue out of it, before moving toward the door.

“You know,” Senne spoke up. Halfway in the doorframe, Sander stopped and turned toward his best friend. Senne had moved closer to Zoë, placing the plate of extra croissants on the table beside her. Zoë was still perched on the counter with croissant and coffee in hand, her brown eyes focused on Sander. “If you like Sarah, you should invite her over sometime. It’s been a while since you’ve brought anyone home.” 

Sander swallowed, feeling the shame sprout in his chest again. “We’re just friends, Senne.” Even though Sander had said the words firmly, to the point that he almost believed it for a second, Senne could see right through him. It was all in his eyes. Before Senne could question, however, Sander added, “Now, I really have to go before Noor decides to ditch me and I have no help.” 

Senne nodded. “Alright, good luck on your project.” 

Once Sander had a fresh change of clothes and his bag tossed over his shoulders, his thoughts wandered to Robbe—of him fast asleep in his bed, of him pressing kisses to Sander’s eyes, of the lustful look that his beautiful brown eyes always got. His comment felt like a shameful lie, but it was also the truth. Sander  _ was  _ just friends with Robbe, but they were the type of friends that kissed and fucked with no strings attached. Yes, they were just friends… but Sander wanted them to be more. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi everyone! sorry it took so long to get this chapter out. it was one hell of a crappy semester but it's over now and we're officially in 2021! I'm wishing everyone a fantastic beginning to the year and sending everyone lots of positive vibes!

Compared to the rest of the campus, the library had the largest amount of possible seating—which made it a prime target for students to study for their upcoming midterms. 

On the first floor, right by the main entrance, there was a coffee shop that sold Starbucks coffee, complete with an online ordering service that allowed you to skip the line, as well as a handful of tables. Across from the small café, there was a large seating area, complete with large tables, booths with outlets, and computers that lined the edge of the room. Because of this, this room was often the busiest in the entire library which made the other obscure areas of the library, tucked between stacks of bookshelves, all the more appealing. 

But, for today, Sander was looking for a seat here, in one of the booths, with his sketchbook in hand. On a typical visit to the library, Sander would’ve hunted down a table in the obscure areas of the library, hidden away from the distracting bustle of students—especially if he had to study for his classes. He would grab himself a coffee and blast David Bowie in his ears until he had to leave. However, today, Sander wasn’t here to study for one of his classes. 

In his Wednesday afternoon life-drawing class, they would normally have a two-hour block of time where they would practice drawing select models. However, their professor had unexpectedly canceled class—sending out an emergency email at three in the morning—and gave them the instructions for their at-home assignment. They were tasked to go somewhere and draw the body language of people that they saw and they had to do so by midnight. However, since he normally had the time blocked off, Sander decided to head to the library to get it done right now. 

When Sander arrived, he had been convinced that he would have to go somewhere else—or potentially, sit on the floor. However, as soon as he moved to leave, he spotted a small group getting up from a table near one of the exterior walls. He quickly made a beeline for them and beat another student who had the same idea. As Sander slid into the booth, he heard them huff angrily and glanced up to see them glaring at him accusingly. 

Once Sander had settled into the booth, he pulled out his sketchbook and his headphones from the depth of his bag. Opening up Spotify, Sander started up one of his many playlists—this one was filled to maximum capacity with every original David Bowie song and a few others he liked—and flipped open his sketchbook to the first empty page he could find. As the opening riff of _Under Pressure_ erupted through his headphones, Sander got to work on his first drawing. 

The first pose that Sander sketched was the girl hunched over her computer three tables away from him. Her eyebrows were tightly pinched together and her hair was pulled into a bun on the top of her head with two pencils and a highlighter sticking out. Sander sketched out her frustrated looking, putting extra detail into the crease of her eyebrows. The sketch itself was unbelievably rough—worse than he ever wanted to turn in—but his professor had been clear on his expectations. He did not care how rough the sketches were because he always wanted to see their progress on their poses and their processes. 

Next, Sander started sketching out the large group of frat boys that were sitting at a large table in the center of the room. They were all laughing and chatting, their books opened and abandoned on the table. From the way that they were earning glares from every other table, they must have been loud and obnoxious but Sander could not hear them over his own music. One by one, Sander drew the group around their circular table, focusing more on how they were sitting than about what clothes they were wearing. 

As Sander sloppily erased the arm of the second-to-last frat boy—intending to redo it with a more natural pose, a shadow passed over his sketchbook. Absentmindedly wiping away his eraser shavings, Sander glanced up and pulled a headphone out of his ear. He half-expected to find one of his classmates who wanted to join him or maybe someone from his class. However, Sander was surprised to see Robbe standing at the edge of his table, his neck craned to see what he was working on. 

Robbe was dressed in a pair of denim jeans and a black button-up shirt—his required uniform for the library café. Even flattened beneath his black work cap, his curls were fighting to get free, poking out from beneath the brim and curling madly. After a few seconds of staring at Sander’s sketchbook, Robbe said, “That looks really good.” 

“Thanks,” Sander said. “What are you doing here? I thought you were working. 

“I’m on my break,” Robbe said, matter-of-factly. He held up one of the to-go cups before he placed it down on the table beside Sander’s sketchbook. Once he placed it on the table, he moved to sit on the opposite side of the booth as he added, “And, I made that for you.” 

As Robbe slid into the booth, taking a sip out of his own to-go cup, Sander reached for the one he placed down and asked, “What’s this?” 

“Your latest regular.”

Sander raised an eyebrow. “Which one?”

Robbe shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t remember the exact name of it, but the process was so complicated that I couldn’t help but remember it,” Robbe said. He took another sip of his drink—probably just coffee with a few packages of sweetener and some milk if Sander knew as well as he thought he did. Even with the cup to his lips, Sander could see the playful smirk that tugged up on Robbe’s lips and couldn’t help his own lips tugging up to mirror his expression. “How’d I do?” Robbe asked. 

Sander chuckled but he didn’t raise the cup to take a drink. “You remember how to make it, but you can’t remember the name of the drink?” 

“ _You’re_ the coffee fanatic, not me,” Robbe said, matter-of-factly. 

“ _Robbe_ , you work in the busiest coffee shop on campus.”

“ _Sander_ , you’re the only person on campus who comes to the busiest coffee shop on campus to order the single most fucking complicated drink I’ve ever heard of,” Robbe said, grinning at him. There was a playful lift in his voice as he took off his black cap. Robbe tossed it aside, running his hand through his curls, as he turned back to Sander. “And, no matter how much you complain about the long line and having to wait so long to get your drink, you continue to show up when I’m working to have me make your coffee ever since we met.”

Sander smiled. “That’s because you’re the best.” 

Robbe’s cheeks flushed brightly, the rosy pink exposing the constellation of freckles on his cheeks, and the corner of his lips continued to tug up further. “Now, back to my original question,” Robbe said, leaning across the table. There was a look in his doe eyes—one that sent a wildfire of warmth through Sander’s entire body—as he reached over to him. Robbe’s fingers overlapped with Sander’s—Robbe’s skin blazing hot against Sander’s naturally cold hands—before he raised one eyebrow and asked, his voice low, “So, how did I do on your fucking complicated coffee order?” 

Dropping his pencil onto his sketchbook, Sander reached out to grasp the coffee cup. Without the cup, their hands grasped at nothing any more but Robbe didn’t remove his fingers from where they were connected, the blaze still persistent against his skin. As Sander raised the cup to his lips, he could feel Robbe’s eyes boring into him. Even as he took a drink and swallowed, the warm liquid rushing down his throat, his eyes never wavered from his. 

When Sander put down the cup, Robbe was waiting, his smile growing more nervous than it was teasing. “It’s perfect,” Sander said. He leaned closer to him and Robbe smiled up at him, brightly—blinding. For a split second, Robbe glanced down to his lips before his gaze returned. Sander wanted nothing more than to close the distance and kiss him right now—right in the middle of the library without a care of who might see. Swallowing, trying to control himself, Sander added, “Just as it always is.” 

Robbe scoffed, rolling his eyes obviously. Despite the fact that Robbe was doing his best to look annoyed, Sander could see the growing smile on his face and the way that his cheeks flushed a deeper shade of red. 

Their hands were still brushing together, the pads of Robbe’s fingers absentmindedly tracing the skin on Sander’s hand. Wanting to test the waters, wanting Robbe’s hand in his own like the last night they were together no matter where they were, Sander twisted his hand around. As if Robbe could read his mind, his hand followed. Once their palms pressed together, Sander spread his fingers and Robbe’s slipped into the crevices that formed, as though that’s where they belonged. Sander squeezed Robbe’s hand gently and Robbe mirrored the action. Robbe’s eyes fluttered down to his lips and Sander couldn’t help mirroring the action, watching as Robbe’s lips parted ever so slightly—

One of their phones rang shrilly—Robbe’s, Sander realized a second later as the ringtone registered—and it vibrated loudly against the table. The abrupt interruption brought them back to the reality of where they were, in the middle of a crowded library. Sander blinked rapidly as Robbe unclasped their hands, diving for his cellphone and swearing under his breath. While Robbe checked his phone, Sander glanced around the library and tried to ignore the empty feeling that resonated with his free hand.

Forcing himself to take a long drink of his coffee, Sander glanced back at Robbe. He was looking down at his phone, holding onto his coffee cup a little too tightly. What had been a bright teasing smile a few minutes before had quickly morphed into a grim look. Worry sprung deep in Sander’s stomach as he looked over at him. Cautiously, Sander asked, “Is everything okay?” 

For a second, Robbe seemed dazed, blinking down rapidly at his phone before he glanced back to Sander. There was a look in his eye like he had just remembered that Sander was sitting there. Robbe bit down on his lip, glancing down at his phone. He placed his phone face-down on the table, avoiding Sander’s gaze, and let out a sigh.

Before Sander could question again, Robbe said, “My mom was put on new medication but she still hasn’t adjusted to it, I think, because she hasn’t been feeling too well.” He ran a hand through his curls and glanced up at Sander. “My aunt came to visit her but the medication knocked her down a little. I know my aunt has an eye on her, but I’m just worried about her.”

“She’s going to be okay, Robbe,” Sander said. 

“Yeah…” Robbe said, trailing off.

As Robbe stared off toward the coffee shop, Sander turned back to his sketchbook. He glanced around the room in search of the group that he had been working on. But, his search ended up being for naught because their table was now claimed by a group of girls—including Britt, her friends, and Noor. Picking up his pencil, Sander put it between his teeth and flipped to the next page of his sketchbook to start on a fresh piece. 

“How did Saturday end up going?” Robbe asked. 

Sander glanced up from the blank page. Robbe had his chin in the palm of his hand and he was turning his coffee cup absentmindedly. His brown eyes were trained on Sander like he was waiting on something or the answer to his question. However, Sander blinked at him confused, and said, with his pencil still clenched in his teeth, “Huh?”

“With Noor,” Robbe said. He nodded toward the group of girls, who were getting their notebooks from their bags, before turning to face Sander. “On your note, you said that you had to meet up with Noor about something for one of your classes.”

“Oh, yeah,” Sander said, taking the pencil from his mouth. “Once I ended up getting there, it went pretty good. Even after running home to take a shower and talking with Zoë and Senne, I was only thirty minutes late. Noor ended up giving me an extensive lecture over punctuality, but I’m sure that I’ll end up getting her back whenever Britt makes her late or something.”

Robbe giggled, leaning back in his seat. “That definitely sounds like Noor,” he said. He paused, his eyes shifting around the room, and Sander took a sip of his coffee. Beneath the table, Sander felt something nudge his foot—Robbe’s—and he responded by kicking Robbe’s foot. Immediately, his companion chuckled before he said, “I honestly didn’t even hear you leave.” 

“Yeah, sorry about that,” Sander said. Robbe glanced over at him. “Once we got to your place, I had completely forgotten that we were supposed to meet up until I woke up to Noor’s ringtone going off. Once I was up, I was just trying to make sure I could get out without waking you up. You looked like you needed to sleep.” 

“Sander,” Robbe interrupted. 

“Yeah?”

“It’s okay, I promise,” Robbe said, chuckling. Sander let out a breath, his lips tugging up into a smile, as he ran a hand through his hair. “Besides,” Robbe added, his eyes looking back towards the coffee shop, looking away from Sander and avoiding his gaze. “There are no commitments between us, remember? You don’t have to be there in the morning when I wake up.” 

Even though Sander nodded, his throat went impossibly dry. Locked safe in his ribcage, fighting to get free and leap for Robbe, his heart stung a little at his words. It felt as though there was an invisible dagger that pierced his side. Even though he was within arm’s reach, Robbe was oblivious to the turmoil of Sander’s heart, his eyes focused away from him. 

_There might be no commitments,_ Sander thought, _but waking up with you is one of my favorite parts._

Swallowing that thought down, he said, “You’re right.” 

Once the words left Sander’s mouth, Robbe’s head dropped, his cheek pressed flush against his palm. His eyes were still focused away from Sander. While Sander couldn’t pull his gaze from Robbe, it was like Robbe could not look at him at all. Even as the buzz of the library seemed to ramp up around them, silence washed over the two of them, leaving a twinge of awkwardness in the air around them. As the silence drew on, Robbe fidgeted with his coffee cup, which might’ve been empty by now, and Sander could sense the tension hanging on his shoulders. 

Beneath the table, Sander nudged Robbe’s foot. 

Immediately, Robbe stirred, sitting up a little straighter. It took only a few more seconds before Robbe nudged his foot back gently, the motion barely there. After nudging him again, Sander extended his foot further, pressing their ankles and heels flushed together. There were a few heartbeats where Robbe remained still but Sander felt a gentle pressure pressing back against his foot. Robbe looked back over to him, his brown eyes meeting Sander’s green ones. Sander shot him a small smile which only grew wider when the corners of Robbe’s started to upturn as well. 

Suddenly, Robbe’s phone went off again and his eyes pinched close. 

“Is it your mom again?” Sander asked. 

Robbe shook his head, reaching for his phone. “No, this time it’s my timer,” he said. Once he raised his phone from the table, he grimaced. “Which means that I have to get back to work.”

“Course,” Sander said. “You’ve got to get back to making money so you can buy Jens and your friends all the beer that they want.” 

Robbe snorted, shaking his head. He reached over, grabbing his work cap from where he discarded it. Once he pulled it on his head, trapping his wild curls, he nudged Sander’s foot. His brown eyes flickered back to Sander, partially obscured by the shadows of the cap. For a second, Robbe hovered before he said, “I’ll see you later, Sander.”

“See you,” Sander echoed. Robbe shuffled out of the booth, grabbing his empty cup as he went. As Robbe stood up, Sander looked up at him, practically craning his neck to keep eye contact. Even though Sander _knows—_ that they’re just friends, that they’re in a public library with a handful of their friends a few tables away from them—there’s a part of his heart that wanted, no, _hoped_ that Robbe would lean down and kiss him right there without a care. But, that was a fool’s dream. And he knew it. “Good luck with all of your _fucking complicated orders._ ”

Robbe snorted, shaking his head, as Sander picked up his headphones. “Yours is the only order that’s _fucking complicated_ , Sander. Good luck with your drawings,” he said. Before Robbe left, he added, “Oh, and if you want a refill for that _complicated_ order, just send me a text to let me know and I’ll make it for you if it’s somewhat slow, okay?” 

Sander nodded. “Okay.” 

Robbe smiled, reaching out to place his hand on his shoulder. Though Sander only expected a quick pat before he moved back towards the coffee shop, Robbe’s hand lingered for a second. Before Sander could turn to check—to see if Robbe was going to say something else—he was moving on, cutting across the library toward the coffee shop once again. 

* * *

When Sander arrived back at his apartment, he was immediately greeted by the sound of the television playing in the living room. Stepping inside, Sander locked the door and shouted, “I’m home!”, which was only returned with a muffled grunt. Sander leaned against the wall, unlacing his boots before taking them off completely. Dropping them down by the door, Sander stepped further into the apartment and immediately made a beeline for the living room. 

When they moved in, Sander’s mother had insisted on helping them buy furniture so they wouldn’t be sitting on the floor until they saved enough money. Originally, Sander had been embarrassed at his mother’s insistence—and he was sure that Senne was more moved than he let on—but he wasn’t going to pass up the opportunity for some financial help. Especially with buying furniture. So, because of Sander’s mom, they were able to watch tv on a couch. 

They had bought a brown couch that fit three people and a matching loveseat that could seat two. After several stores, they managed to find a coffee table that matched the entertainment center—and the accompanying television—that Senne’s parents had given them. They had found a simple dining table and four chairs that matched the rest of the room. Once Senne and Zoë started dating, there were a few plants—all of varying sizes—that had randomly shown up on a random day without explanation but Sander didn’t mind them. 

Senne was spread out across the couch, facing the tv. He was using one of the armrests as a pillow and the other as a footrest. He wore a pair of gray joggers and a black sweatshirt. He had the hood pulled over his head, covering his hair. Despite the fact that he looked like he was about to go out for a run or had just returned, there was a gigantic bowl of popcorn on his stomach. 

Sander snuck a glance at the television. Once he saw the flash of yellow lightning that was paired with a red suit and Grant Gustin, he turned back towards Senne, who was still looking at the television. “Really? _The Flash_? Again?” 

Senne grabbed a handful of popcorn. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Mr. _‘guilty pleasure from my youth’_ ,” he said, scoffing. He dropped a handful of kernels in his mouth, his eyes fixated on the screen as though he was watching a brand-new, never-before-seen show—not the show that Senne routinely watched in his free time. “So,” Senne said. “Are you going to join me on the couch or what? I’m still in season 1.” 

Sander blinked at him in disbelief before he let out a sigh, “Why not?” Rather dramatically, Sander tossed his green bag and his leather jacket onto the empty loveseat. Sander moved towards the couch and Senne pulled his legs up enough for Sander to have some space to sit down. Once Sander was sitting down, Senne stretched his legs across his lap and Sander reached for the popcorn bowl. 

As Barry Allen raced off towards the next danger threatening Central City, Senne asked, “How’s your day been?” 

“Good,” Sander said. He reached over, grabbing a handful of popcorn from the bowl, and placed a few of them in his mouth. Once he had swallowed them down, he continued, “I did some homework in the Student Union. I attended a few classes. You know, the normal.” Sander glanced over at Senne. “What about you?”

Senne shrugged. “Didn’t really do much of anything—or at least anything productive,” he said. His eyes were fixated on the screen. “I spent most of the day practicing for my presentation in my financial class with Zoë. I’m surprised she didn’t get bored, listening to me fuck it up so many times.” 

“How did it end up going?” 

“It went okay,” Senne said. “At the end of the day, we’re all there to get a grade, and listening to ten presentations during class gets boring—no matter how many points are being counted for participation.” Sander nodded. Even in his art classes, he had been on the receiving end of many bored gazes before. No matter the class, presentations sucked. “But, my professor liked my presentation and I had a few extra questions about it. Apparently, Zoë was sitting on the other side of the door listening to it because she took me out to lunch to celebrate.”

Sander chuckled. “She’s committed.” 

A peaceful silence fell over them as the tv show progressed. Occasionally, one of their phones would buzz—either Senne’s on the coffee table or Sander’s buried in the depths of his bag—but neither one of them reached for it. They would let it ring a few more times until it faded out. The amount of popcorn was dwindling rapidly as they kept reaching for handfuls. In a minute or two, they would have to get up to make more but, right now, they didn’t move. 

As the show ended—the one-off villain of the episode safely locked away in the basement of Star Labs and Barry Allen safe at home with his found family—and Sander’s eyelids getting heavy, Senne spoke up, “So, Zoë proposed something at lunch this afternoon.”

Sander chuckled, leaning further into the couch. “Marriage already?”

Senne snorted, shoving Sander with his socked foot. “No,” he said. “She mentioned something about the two of us possibly going out on a double date with you and Sarah one day.”

Even though he had spent the last half of the episode struggling to stay awake—a combination of draining activities of the day as well as spending all of the previous night finishing a project—Sander was suddenly wide awake, staring at the ceiling. A double date? What?

“Okay, fine, you don’t have to go out on a double date with us. But, I figured it would be a good excuse for you to finally ask this girl out,” Senne said. “You’ve been hung up on her for a while. Maybe, this is the excuse you need to finally make a move.” 

“I told you, Senne,” Sander said. The thought of going out on a date with “Sarah” had been a thought on Sander’s mind for a while. But, he knew that it was a fantasy at best. It was a foolish dream, one that Sander knew would never become reality. Letting out a sigh, Sander repeated the sad truth again, “We’re just friends.” 

“Yes, yes, that’s what you said,” Senne said. His best friend sat up, balancing the bowl of popcorn in one hand as he reached out for the remote. Sander reached over to steady the bowl, anticipating the popcorn falling all over the carpet. “But,” Senne spoke up, crossing his legs beneath him. The remote was in his hand and he watched it around dramatically. “I still think you should use this as an excuse to ask out whoever this _Sarah_ person really is.” 

Sander glanced over at Senne, who had his gaze point on the television. The next episode of _The Flash_ was playing on the television, the typical voiceover of Barry Allen playing, but it was abruptly cut short as Senne paused the show. When Senne turned towards him, a knowing look on his face, there was a sinking feeling in Sander’s stomach at the realization. _Senne knew he lied_. 

Swallowing, Sander asked, “How’d you know?”

“Sander,” Senne said, chuckling. “I’m your best friend—and your roommate for three years. If you don’t think I don’t know when you’re lying by now, you’re a fool—which I know you’re not. In most instances.” Sander chuckled, solemnly, as Senne placed the bowl of popcorn on the coffee table. “Look, I don’t know why you feel like you need to lie to me about their identity, but I’m not stupid. I know what you look like when you’re hung up on someone—especially when you have been for a while.” 

Sander let out a sigh, burying his face in his hands. Finally, after several heartbeats, he managed to say, “It’s complicated, Senne.” 

“How so?” 

How _wasn’t_ it complicated? One night, Sander saw Robbe in a crowd of a hundred people or more with his friends, surrounded by dark shadows and neon lights, and was instantly infatuated. He hoped for a _chance_ to meet the boy, to sweep him off his feet, and then he _did,_ and now, they were nothing more than friends with benefits—falling together like they needed a fix. But, Sander can’t help the tugging in his chest like they _were_ something more like he wasn’t the only one to feel it too. 

Letting out a sigh, Sander chuckled to himself. “It’s hard to explain.” 

“You like this ‘Sarah’ person, right?” he asked, using air-quotes.

Swallowing, Sander nodded. “Yes,” he said. To his own ears, it sounded like a confession. He couldn’t imagine what it sounded like from Senne’s perspective. “Yes, I think I’ve liked them for a while and I just don’t know what to do about it.” 

Sander snuck a peek at Senne, who looked lost in thought. He had his legs crossed beneath him with his hands resting on his knees. For a second, he remained like that until he raised his eyes, his brown eyes meeting Sander’s green ones. “If you like them, I think you should tell them how you really feel, Sander. No bullshit, face-to-face. If they don’t reciprocate your feelings, you will know for sure.” He paused, one long heartbeat, before adding, “You deserve to be happy, Sander.” 

For a minute, Sander remained quiet before he asked the thought lingering in his brain, “What if I’m happy with the way that things are now?” 

Senne’s response was immediate, his eyebrows raised suspiciously. “Are you?” 

Sander let out a sigh. “Yes and no,” he admitted. For a few minutes, Senne stared at him before waving his hand—a silent signal for Sander to keep talking. Rolling his eyes at his friend’s antics, Sander said, “I don’t know. I’m happy where we are because we’re close and I like being around them—a lot.” Senne gave him a look. “But,” he added, “I also wish that we were something _more_ than what we are now. So, I _am_ happy but I’m also not.”

Senne nodded, understanding written on his face. “Do you want my advice?” 

For a second, there was a sarcastic “No” that was on the tip of his tongue, but Sander held it back. He stayed quiet, glancing at the television—of Barry Allen in the midst of an argument in the recap—before he nodded. 

“You deserve to be happy, Sander,” Senne said. “You deserve to be with someone who _makes_ you happy—in whatever way you want it to be. If you have feelings for this person, I think you should pursue them and tell them. But, if you want to keep things the same way, caught between being happy and being content, the only person who can make that decision for you is you.”

Sander let out a sigh, nodding as he ran a hand across his face. Sander knew that he was right—he had said something months ago when Senne and Zoë were sneaking around—but it felt different hearing it from someone else’s mouth, from _Senne’s_ mouth. The words felt heavier, more real and true, and so the feelings in his chest and in his brain—the irrational ones crafted by his insecurities, rattling around with an unmatched fury. 

As if reading his mind—and, with how long they had been friends, he might have been able to—Senne added, “Anyone would be lucky to have you as a boyfriend, Sander.” Clasping him on the shoulder, Senne stood up from the couch. He reached for the nearly empty popcorn bowl before turning toward Sander, who was still seated. “I’m going to make some more popcorn. Do you want anything from the kitchen while I’m up?”

“Maybe a coffee,” Sander said. “But, I’ll come to make it myself.” 

Senne nodded, a solemn expression on his face.“Gotcha. I’ll turn the pot on for you.” He moved towards the kitchen, stepping over Sander’s legs, with the bowl clasped in his hand, leaving Sander alone in his thoughts. 

* * *

“Sander!” 

Even though Sander had done his best to check out all of the tables that he had passed, trying to spot one of his group mates, he still managed to miss where Celeste was sitting. Spinning around, he turned toward the shout of his name and spotted the girl half out of her chair. She was waving her arm above her head to catch his attention. Somehow, he managed to completely walk past her spot and Sander quickly backtracked to her table. 

While they were on the first floor of the library, she had chosen a spot that was far from the main—and popular—places to study. It was one of the many obscure table locations, further into the library and past the main staircase. The tables were surrounded by bookshelves that were filled with unpopular topics and a handful of empty tables. In particular, the one that Celeste had chosen was large enough to hold the five people for the project and was within reach of three different outlets. 

But, Sander was unsure how he managed to miss her. 

Celeste’s hair stood out amongst the earthy hues of the libraries, dyed a vibrant shade of violet. She had on a sage green t-shirt and a pair of black glasses that were perched on her nose. Judging from the notes spread out over the table and the whirling of her fan, she seemed to have been there a while. As Sander dropped his back into the chair seated across from her, Celeste hurried to grab her notes that had slid over the table. 

As Sander moved to get his wallet from his bag—intending to run and get coffee—Celeste spoke up, “I heard from Anna. She said that she was going to be a little late because her class ran over and she has Professor Pauwels so she could be there a while.” Sander grimaced, causing Celeste to laugh. 

One of the prominent figures of the Art Department, Professor Pauwels, was notorious for giving long-winded—and, often, _pointless_ —lectures. Each lecture started another one, repeating the cycle over and over again until someone managed to cut him off. He was a brilliant man with an immeasurable amount of experience and wisdom—a real asset for anyone in the art program—but he did _not_ know when to stop talking. 

“But, I don’t know about Amir,” Celeste added. 

“Oh,” Sander said, glancing down at his watch. “Because of the time, he’s probably stuck in traffic. He’s driving from his apartment complex. He lives downtown near his mom’s work and the traffic gets pretty bad around lunchtime because everyone is going out to get food and everything.” When Sander glanced up, he saw the confused look on Celeste’s face, he added, “Amir and I have been friends for a few years now.” 

“Ah okay,” Celeste said. “Have you heard from Liam about whether or not he’s coming?” When Sander shook his head, she let out a heavy sigh before turning back to her computer, “I was worried about that. He hasn’t been answering any of my messages about meeting up.” 

Sander let out a heavy sigh before dropping his head, resuming his search for his wallet. Despite his immense talent, Liam was known for not participating in group projects. After a few moments of almost-silence, the only sound being Celeste typing hurriedly, Sander found his wallet. It was wedged beneath his sketchbook and his pencil pouch and he quickly pulled it free. Once he straightened up, he draped his leather jacket across the chair and said, “Since we’re going to be waiting for a little bit, I’m going to go and get some coffee. Do you mind if I leave my things here?”

“No,” Celeste said. “Go right ahead, I’ll watch your things.”

“Thanks. Did you want me to grab you anything while I’m there?”

For a second, Celeste simply blinked at him in confusion before the question registered. Sander could see the wheels turning in her head as she bit down on her bottom lip. Finally, she said, “I’ll take a mocha frappuccino with no whipped cream if you don’t mind.” Sander nodded, mentally jotting down the order, as he stepped away from the table. Before he disappeared completely, Celeste added, “Let me know how much it is and I’ll pay you back!”

Sander nodded. “Be back soon.” 

As Sander headed to the coffee shop, he expected there to be a line out the door. However, to his amazement, the shop was empty—or, at least in comparison to how it normally was, it _felt_ that way. There were a few tables that had been taken up by customers, hunched over computers or notes for class. Standing behind the counter, there were five workers who were all moving about, cleaning and preparing for what might be the post-lunch rush.

As Sander stepped closer into the cafe, closer to the counter in particular, the closest worker raised their eyes to check. Instantly, beautiful brown, doe-eyes connected with Sander’s green ones. It was nearly a second later before one of those bright smiles blossomed on the worker’s lips. Without realizing it, Sander felt his own lips turn up into a smile to reciprocate, his stomach instantly turning to knots as he approached Robbe, standing behind the counter. 

“Hey,” Robbe said, instinctively moving towards the register. His previous task—refilling lids—was abandoned behind him. One of his coworkers that passed by quickly resumed the job before moving further into the shop—out of the public eye. Robbe’s eyes were glinting happily and Sander quickly found himself lost in them. “Two times in one week is a surprise—and this time, you came to me.”

Sander chuckled, shaking his head. Once he stepped up to the counter, he leaned against it, his hip digging into the marble. Robbe’s eyes followed his movements, raking briefly over his entire form, and Sander loved—and hated—how hyper-aware he was of Robbe’s gaze, rushing through him like an ignited fire set ablaze. “Well,” Sander said, dropping his voice, as though they were sharing some secret. “To be fair, I wasn’t the one that asked for a coffee.”

Robbe smiled. His cheeks flushed, starting at a pale shade of pink and growing darker in color—to Sander’s sheer delight. A few seconds later, he managed to get out, “That is true, but I could tell that you were in desperate need of one of your favorite coffees, made by yours truly.” Robbe glanced cautiously toward his coworkers before he leaned closer. The look in Robbe’s eyes sent a flash of warmth through Sander’s entire chest as he leaned over and added, his voice low and teasing, “And, you looked in need of some company.” 

Sander swallowed, glancing toward the coworkers, who were oblivious of their conversation, before leaning forward to meet him. Robbe’s eyes watched him, flickering across his face frantically as if he could not find a place to rest them. Without thinking, the words tumbled off his lips—the honesty of his words practically _dripping_ from his mouth. “And, how could I ever deny your company?”

Robbe’s cheeks flushed a deeper shade of pink—the tips of his ears practically turning a shade of crimson red—as he pulled back, drawing his eyes back to the computer in front of him. Sander bit down on his lip, trying to smother the triumphant grin growing on his face. “So, what can I get for you?” Robbe asked. Even as he spoke, Sander could still hear the flustered tone in his voice. Despite this, it quickly turned to teasing as he added, “Are you getting your ‘regular’ regular? Or a different regular this time around?” 

Sander shrugged his shoulders. “Surprise me,” he said. Robbe chuckled, shaking his head in disbelief, as he typed out Sander’s order into the computer. Somewhere to his right, Sander heard the mechanical whirl of the printer—the one that they stuck on the side of coffee cups—and Robbe reached for it. As Robbe stuck the sticker to the side of an empty cup, Sander added, “Oh, I need one more thing added to my order.”

Robbe glanced up from the empty cup, putting it down beside the register. “Really?” he asked. There was a look of confusion in his eyes as he turned back to the computer. “Did you want a bag of croissants?” The thought of a fresh bag of croissants was incredibly tempting. “They’re going to take a few more minutes because they’re making them fresh for the next rush.”

The thought of _fresh_ croissants made it too tempting to pass up—and judging from the look on Robbe’s face, he knew it. “You know me so well,” Sander said. Before he could go on, Robbe was already typing into the computer, “Go ahead and add a few croissants on there.” Behind Robbe, one of his coworkers moved toward the back—likely to check on said croissants. “But, then I also need to add a mocha frappuccino, no whip cream.” 

Robbe looked at him in confusion. “A mocha frappuccino? Don’t you hate frozen coffee?”

Sander rolled his eyes. “For starters, I do not hate frappuccinos,” Sander said. “Coffee in all forms is beautiful and amazing. I am just human with bias _and_ just don’t tend to be in the mood for frappuccinos ninety-nine-point-nine-nine-nine percent of the time.” Robbe giggled. “Secondly, it isn’t for me.” 

As he glanced up from the computer, there was a look in Robbe’s eyes, one that Sander couldn’t identify. It was only there a second before it disappeared completely, behind a wall that Sander wasn’t prepared for. Then, Robbe said, “Oh, is it for Britt?”

“No, it’s for—” 

“Hey, Sander!” Turning away from Robbe, Sander glanced over his shoulder and found Celeste stepping into the coffee shop. She hurried over to his side, carrying what looked like a black wallet in her hand. Before she had even halted by his side, she was asking, “Have you paid yet?”

“Not yet,” Sander said. Celeste nodded, looking toward the board above Robbe’s head thoughtfully. “Why?” 

“Anna showed up,” Celeste said. She pulled her phone from her pocket and took a picture of the menu board. As she typed out a message, presumably to Anna, she continued, “When I mentioned that you were getting coffee, she said that she might want something. But, she wasn’t for sure who you were so I figured I would come to order hers and pay for mine as well.”

“I’ve got it—” 

“No, seriously, it’s okay—”

“Celeste—”

“Sander—” 

“I’m serious, it’s okay—”

As if on cue, Celeste’s phone went off in her hand, emitting a flurry of happy beeps, and she turned her attention to it. While Celeste was focused on her phone, Sander snuck a glance at Robbe, who was shifting awkwardly from foot-to-foot. For a brief moment, his eyes jumped to Sander—their eyes connecting once again—before he quickly looked back down at the computer. 

“So,” Robbe said. For a split second, he sounded almost small, his chin tucked against his chest. Sander noticed, his eyes flickering over to Robbe, but Celeste didn’t seem to notice. When Robbe continued, his voice had returned to normal and Sander wondered if he had imagined it all together. “Was there something that you wanted to add to the order?” 

“Yes, just one more thing I think,” she said. Before she continued, she glanced over at Sander, an unsure and skeptical look on her face. “Are you sure that you don’t mind paying for all of ours? I can split the cost with you.” 

“Celeste,” Sander said. “I promise that it is not a big deal for me to pay for everyone’s coffee. If you want, next time we have to meet up because you know that we’re going to have to, you can buy coffee for everyone and ‘pay me back’ if you want to.” 

Celeste nodded, a little unsure. “Okay,” she said. _Wait,_ Sander thought. He quickly dug his phone out of his pocket and navigated to his messages with Amir. If they were going to add Anna’s order, Sander was going to see if Amir wanted anything as well. As Sander typed out a message, Celeste said, “Can we add a venti caramel macchiato with three shots of espresso and 3 pumps of caramel syrup?” 

Sander: _We’re ordering coffee. Do you want anything?_

Instantly, the grey bubble with dots popped up—indicating that Amir was typing. In his peripheral vision, Sander could see Robbe typing away on the computer, followed quickly by the mechanical whirl of a printer. “Is that everything for the two of you today?” Robbe asked. 

“Hold on a few,” Sander said. Celeste turned to him, a look of confusion on her face, and he added, “I texted Amir to see if he might want anything and he’s typing something out right now.” As soon as he said something, Amir’s message came through. 

Amir: _Thanks for thinking of me._ _  
_ _Venti Iced Espresso and a croissant_

 _Good thing I decided to get croissants already,_ Sander thought. Now, he didn’t have to eat them all on his own—and Sander _knew_ that he would’ve done so too. Especially if they were fresh like Robbe said. “Can we add a venti iced espresso too?” Sander asked. 

Without glancing up from the computer, Robbe nodded. After a few more seconds, and one final whirl of the printer, Robbe looked up. “Is that all?” When Sander and Celeste nodded, their movements in unison, there was a flash of a look in Robbe’s eyes that Sander could not identify. Robbe quickly returned his gaze down to the computer. Without looking up again, he said, “Your final total is 29.94.” 

Sander dug his debit card from his wallet, handing it over to him. Robbe took the card from him and quickly slid it down the register. It was barely a second before the receipt was being printed. Once it was fully printed, Robbe tore the paper and wrapped Sander’s card in it before giving it back to him. “I’ll get your orders out as soon as I can.” Before Sander or Celeste could thank him, he grabbed all four of the cups beside him and stepped away from the counter. 

Once Robbe left, Sander took a step away and Celeste quickly followed him. Even as he did so, Sander watched as Robbe walked over to one of his coworkers, who was in the midst of cleaning something. When Robbe tapped her on the shoulder, she grinned up at him happily. After a few seconds, the girl nodded and took two of the coffee cups from his hands. 

After a few seconds of silence, Celeste spoke up, “So, are you ready for this group project?” 

Sander snorted. “Is anyone ready for a group project?” he asked. Celeste pretended to think about it for a few seconds before promptly shaking her head and scrunching up her nose like she detested the thought. Sander laughed, thankful that his thoughts weren’t alone. “Do you have some ideas of what we might end up researching? I’ve tried to figure out what I would want to research but I can’t think of anything.” 

“He did make the requirements incredibly vague,” Celeste said. “But, I do have some ideas about what we could end up researching. But, that doesn’t mean anything when there’s four of us—and one person that might or might not show up at all.”

“You’re right,” Sander said. “But, at least, it gives us a place to start.”

“True,” Celeste said, nodding. Quickly, the two of them fell into a peaceful silence as they waited for their coffee. 

Unable to help himself, Sander glanced over at Robbe. Even while he was standing at a machine, making one of their coffees, Robbe was still half turned around… or at least he was until their eyes connected and he promptly turned back around. Sander’s heart did a hopeful somersault as he watched Robbe’s back. Sander hoped that he would turn around again so Sander could catch him looking and wink—because he felt like it, because he wanted to see that beautiful flush blossom on his cheeks again, because he could and Robbe wouldn’t mind it. 

However, to Sander’s disappointment, Robbe never turned around. 

* * *

With half of the party-going college population crammed into a darkly-lit two-story house outside of campus, the pre-midterms party—officially dubbed “The Party of the Weekend”—was under full swing. 

Every piece of furniture had been shoved against the closest wall, leaving enough space to carve out a dance floor that was large enough for everyone. What used to be a living room had been turned into a dance floor—complete with a music booth and a DJ—that gave enough room for the party to dance to their heart’s content. Those who had taken advantage were dancing together to the pounding music, hardly a space left between them.

Eager for a spot to sit—or stand—people had taken every inch of space that they could find, which included the kitchen. Some had chosen to sit on counters and others leaned against them, blocking up more space than they realized. Some couples had taken a spot because it was the only one they could find, using it to make out, more concerned with shoving their tongues down each other’s throats than about their surroundings. 

It was a typical Friday night. It was another college party in a random “friend of a friend’s” house. It was another group of party-goers that danced to the pounding music, drinking too much beer, and cheering with each new song. 

Even though Sander wasn’t the DJ tonight, he could not help his instinctual reaction to the music. Every beat of a song—every melody that pounded through the speakers—flowed through his body, strumming at every nerve-ending that he had. Each song was a new fire set ablaze and the quenching water all at once. Sander wanted to be up there, on the stage to dictate the music, but he also wanted to remain rooted where he was, enjoying the flow of the journey the current DJ was taking them on. 

As Sander let the current music overtake him—a current pop hit that Sander personally didn’t like, but felt perfect in this setting, he let his eyes wander across the crowd. It wasn’t the same view that he would have on a stage, but it would do. 

In the darkness of the living room, he could not make out the details of the majority of the dancers, swaying together to the music. He only managed to find Britt and Noor as the two of them stumbled toward the kitchen in search of something to fill their glasses. He could barely determine the groups on the crowded floor, clustered together, and he followed the magenta light as it traced the heads of the crowd. 

But, once the magenta light landed on someone, his search had come to a halt. Even without intentionally searching for him, Sander still managed to find him—like a moth to a flame. Robbe was leaning against another one of the walls, a beer bottle in hand. He was with the other Broerrrs and Jana, standing on the other side of Moyo. Smiling bright, Robbe wrapped an arm around Aaron and started saying something, jumping up and down on his feet. Seconds later, Aaron and Jens mimicked his action until Moyo pushed himself off the wall and headed into the crowd. 

As Moyo disappeared, the remaining Broerrrs cheered. Jana simply shook her head—Sander would not be surprised if she rolled her eyes—and Jens hugged her with both arms, pressing a flurry of kisses against her cheek until she giggled. Left alone, Robbe swayed on his feet with one arm wrapped around Aaron, forcing him to mirror the action. Aaron wrapped an arm around Robbe, swaying willingly as their mouths moved in unison, potentially singing the song blasting through the speakers. 

There was an unexpected and sudden weight on Sander’s shoulders, dropping down unexpectedly and jolting him from his thoughts. Reluctantly, he pulled his gaze from the giggling Robbe and turned, finding Senne and Zoë staring at him with amused smiles on their faces. Senne was leaning against the wall, a beer in one hand, and one arm wrapped around Zoë’s waist. The two of them were practically intertwined, flush together, and joined at the hip. 

Once Sander was facing them, Senne beamed at him and reached over to ruffle his hair. Sander tried to dodge his movement but he failed miserably, falling into the wall behind him, and Senne successfully managed to mess up his hair. Even over the heavy bass, Sander could hear Senne say, “There you are! Did we lose you there for a bit?” 

“Yeah, sorry about that,” Sander said. He ran a hand through his hair, hoping to return it back to normal or, at the least, straighten it out a little. However, he had a feeling that the only thing he succeeded in doing was making it look worse. Sander stepped closer to them so he wouldn’t have to shout so loud. “It’s just been a tough week.”

Even in the darkness of the living room, Sander could see the skeptical look in Senne’s eyes. “Really? You’ve been so distracted lately.” Senne raised his beer to his lips and took a long sip. Sander glanced toward Zoë, who had a similarly confused look on her face. Senne swallowed before continuing, “You know, if this is about S—” 

Before Senne had managed to finish his sentence, someone collided into Sander’s arm, nearly knocking him off-balance. 

Instantly, Sander’s teasing and playful demeanor disappeared. The Senne left standing was one with a protective look on his face. His body was locked up as if he was ready for a fight if need be, his bottle as his weapon. Sander knew that it was simply Senne’s fight or flight response, cultivated after years of fights with elitist pricks, but it still caused the hair on the back of Sander’s neck to stand straight up and goosebumps to appear all over his skin. 

However, when Sander turned, he caught a quick flash of violet hair—which almost looked black in the dark lighting of the party—but it wasn’t until the girl was talking, shouting over the heavy bass, that Sander connected who was standing in front of them. “Oh my god, Sander! I’m so sorry!” Celeste said. “I don’t know what happened. I was just trying to get to the kitchen and then I was shoved and fell into—”

“It’s okay, Celeste,” Sander said. In his peripheral, Sander could see Senne’s visibly relaxing a little, slumping against the wall, and Zoë was running her hand soothingly over his shoulders. “These parties are kind of crazy sometimes.” He glanced around the crowded room, which was filled to maximum capacity. “And, this one is crazier than others.” 

Celeste let out a breath, glancing over at Senne and Zoë. “Are you okay? I’m sorry that I scared you.” 

“I’m good,” Senne said, nodding. When Sander snuck a glance at his best friend, he held up a hand in mock surrender to let him know that he was okay. Even though it had been years since those elitist pricks had gone out of their way to mess with Senne, those instincts still lingered. “I just wasn’t expecting it. I’m Senne.” 

Beside him, Zoë spoke up, never distancing herself from Senne, “Zoë.”

“I’m Celeste,” she said. “Sander and I are in the same art history class.”

“Oh,” Senne spoke up. “If you and him are in the same class, does that mean you’ve been assigned that absurd group project too?” Senne turned towards Sander and added, “That is the class with the absurd group project that you keep complaining about, right?” 

As Sander nodded, Celeste laughed. “Yes, that’s the one. Sander and I are actually in the same group,” she said. She tucked her hands into the pockets of her jeans. “Well, I think we have a pretty good group for the most part. Except for Liam.” 

Sander groaned, sipping on his beer. “Yeah, that asshole,” he said. When his best friend sent him a confused glance, Sander elaborated, “For our first group meeting, he showed up over twenty minutes late, refused to answer any text messages, and got angry that we all had coffee without him—even though we didn’t know if he was coming or not.” 

Zoë laughed loudly, leaning against Senne. “Looks like group projects are always the same no matter what major you’re in.” 

Celeste chuckled. “Tell me about it. There’s always one group member that doesn’t do any work—and then, he proceeded to argue for about ten minutes because he didn’t want to do the topic that the majority of us agreed on. But, we were given a long list of topics and that was the one the rest of us didn’t have any problems with. Normally, I would be okay with working out another topic but he was acting so fucking entitled about it.” 

Sander let out a sigh, bringing his beer bottle to his lips. “Fucking entitled is right. If he doesn’t end up doing any work, what does it matter what topic we choose? But, if he also doesn’t do any work, at least we could talk to the teacher about it.”

“That’s true.” As Sander tilted his head back, draining the rest of his beer, Celeste abruptly turned to him, and said, “Once again, I am so, so sorry for running into you. But, I promised my friend that I would get them a beer so I actually have to go.” 

Sander nodded. The brief movement caused a small trickle of beer to slip from the corner of his mouth, dribbling down his chin and onto his shirt. Somewhere to his left, Senne laughed loudly—all fight-or-flight instincts gone—and his laugh blended beautifully with Zoë’s. Swallowing the rest of the beer and wiping off the residue, Sander managed to get out, “It’s completely okay. All the beer should be out or in the fridge.”

“Okay, thank you,” Celeste said. Before she left their small group, she added, “Before I forget, are you still okay with meeting up on Sunday for the project?”

“Yes, I don’t have any plans then,” Sander said. “We’re just going to be talking about which parts we are all going to research, right?” 

“Yes, I believe that’s what we decided on,” Celeste said. “Unless of course, Liam decides to show up and derail all of our progress again. Either way, I will see you then. Goodbye. It was nice to meet you guys.” The last sentence was directed towards Zoë and Senne, who waved goodbye to her. As quickly as she had appeared, Celeste vanished into the bustling crowd around them, moving in the direction of the kitchen. 

Once Sander turned back to his friends, brushing off the beer that had gotten on his shirt, he immediately saw his best friend looking at him. There was a look on his face and a silent question that was located in his eyes—one that Sander was able to decipher quickly from their many years of friendship. _Is she the “Sarah”?_

Giving Senne a look, Sander said, “No.”

Beside him, Zoë looked confused, her brown eyes darting between both of them, as Senne let out a loud laugh. “You don’t blame me for wondering, do you?” 

“No, but also no,” Sander said. 

While Senne was distracted, Sander reached out and snatched the bottle straight from his grasp. Senne looked offended, trying to get the bottle back, but Sander was quicker, draining the bottle of the few lukewarm sips that remained at the bottom of the bottle. 

“Well, that was rude,” Senne said. 

“Don’t worry,” Sander said, already moving away. “I was planning on getting you a refill.” 

Zoë laughed, hiding her face in the crook of Senne’s neck as he pulled her closer. Even as Sander stepped away from them, he could hear her laughter and Senne’s muffled talk. However, their voices were quickly buried by the pounding bass the further that he stepped away. 

* * *

In all honesty, Sander wasn’t much of a smoker. 

Most times, Sander smoked to get away—or with Senne in the comfort of their apartment. And, at parties like this, Sander never felt the need to get away. He enjoyed the music and the drinking (however minimal he drank so he wouldn’t fuck with his medication) and hanging out with his friends. Sometimes, rarely now, Sander would even find himself on the dance floor with someone who asked him to and would dance with them until they were too distracted by kissing one another. 

On rare occasions, Sander would get overwhelmed. Sometimes, it would be the combination of the pounding music and the intruding neon lights that would get to be too much. Sometimes, it would simply be his brain playing tricks on him, spiraling out of control with thoughts of his impending future or things he could not control. That was where his rolled-up joints would come in handy, tucked neatly in his wallet. They were an excuse to step away and relax, to have a few minutes to himself where he wasn’t thinking, he was smoking. 

After a handful of beers and ten and a half more songs, Sander felt the need to escape, to step outside, and smoke a joint or two. And, that has how Sander found himself sitting on the back porch steps, lighting a joint with the black lighter he kept in the pocket of his jeans. 

Despite the slight chill in the winter air, Sander sat on the porch steps without his jacket. Thankfully, he had a long sleeve shirt beneath his t-shirt which blocked the chill from seeping to his bones. Aside from him and the single, solitary pot by the back door, the back porch was completely bare of any furniture. Even the backyard was empty. There was a single window that peered into the bustling kitchen, still filled to maximum capacity with people, and that was it. Nothing more. Nothing less.

Even sitting outside, Sander could feel the pounding of the bass. It shook the entire house, vibrating the floorboards beneath his thighs. Sander would not have been surprised if the entire street could’ve heard the music. While there hadn’t been a single police officer who had shown up, Sander figured it was because the occupants of the houses on the street were at the party themselves. 

Raising the lit joint to his lips, Sander took a drag. 

As he inhaled deeply, the smoke-filled his lungs completely. For a split second, Sander held his breath, letting the slight burn of his lungs overwhelm him until he couldn’t hold it in anymore. Once Sander opened his mouth, exhaling gently, the smoke tumbled off his lips and faded into the air around him. Then, he raised the joint back to his lips, repeating the process over again. With each drag, Sander felt his body relax a little more… even his mind began to quiet down a little, bringing him back to the present, on the back porch alone. 

Rather abruptly, Sander heard the back door open behind him. 

For one long second, the music from the speakers escaped out the open door. It blasted at him at full volume, loud and pounding. However, it was squelched by the slam of the door, muffling the pounding bass all over again. Before Sander could turn to see who joined him on the porch, an all-too-familiar, comforting voice said, “So, here’s where you disappeared off to.” 

Unable to help himself, Sander smiled at Robbe’s voice before turning to face him. 

Sure enough, Robbe was standing on the back porch, his hands buried deep in his back pockets. Now that they were closer—no longer separated by a large party—Sander could see that Robbe was wearing a blue sweatshirt beneath his jacket and, to Sander’s disappointment, a regular pair of jeans. Tonight, his brown curls were unruly, blowing lightly in the wind, and giving him the appearance of an unkept god. 

As Robbe stepped closer, Sander’s heart gave a knowing tug as he watched him. Robbe sat down on the steps beside Sander, leaning up against the railing of the steps. Shifting, Robbe reached over and plucked the joint from Sander’s fingers. He raised it to his lips and took a log drag. As he did, Robbe raised his eyebrows challengingly at Sander, daring him to take the joint back. When he didn’t, Sander swore that he could see a small triumphant grin turn up on the corner of his lips. 

Blowing out the smoke, looking positively alluring as he grinned at him, Robbe said, “Thank you.” 

Even though Sander felt like he hadn’t been given a choice, he said, “You’re welcome.” After a few beats of silence, Sander held out his hand and Robbe grinned, handing over the joint without a fight. However, Sander suspected that it would not be long before Robbe relieved him of it again. Holding it to his lips, Sander asked, “How is your mom doing? Is she doing any better?” 

As Sander took another drag, feeling—or, maybe, imagining—the lingering warmth left by his lips, Robbe let out a sigh, fidgeting with his fingers. “She was doing a little better, but she hasn’t been having a good day today,” Robbe said. “When I called her earlier, before the party, she was having a bit of a bad day and was really down about it. But, I think she was trying to seem happy so I wouldn’t worry about her.” 

Sander offered the joint to Robbe. He simply stared at the joint for a few minutes before taking it from his fingers. Robbe lifted the joint to his mouth and took another drag. “As of right now, it’s just a few bad days, Robbe,” Sander said. Robbe nodded. He knew that Sander was talking from experience—that, sometimes, Sander had low days and high ones too that never ended up being defined as an ‘episode’. “She’ll bounce back soon.”

Robbe nodded, exhaling. The smoke shot from his lips like a cannonball, cutting through the air, and making a cloud as it rushed away. As soon as it dispersed into the air, dissolving as though it had never existed in the first place, Robbe was lifting the joint to his mouth again. “I know,” he said. His eyes dropped down to his feet as he let out a small sigh. “I just have a bad feeling, is all.” 

Sander nodded, deciding not to protest when Robbe took another drag. “It’ll all be okay, Robbe.” 

A peaceful silence fell over the two of them—or how silent it could’ve been with a raging party with pounding music on the other side of a simple wooden door. With each drag, they passed the dwindling join between them, their fingertips brushing. Sander could feel Robbe’s eyes on him and raised his eyes to look at him. Their eyes locked together, as he took another drag. Robbe sucked in a breath and swallowed, his eyes dropping down to Sander’s lips before returning where they had been. 

Exhaling, Sander glanced at the remains of the joint in his hand. They had burnt the joint down to the bud, taking all that it had. Now, they were barely able to hold it between his fingers. Sander held out the remains of the bud to Robbe, who glanced at it confused. “There’s probably only one drag left if you want it.” 

Robbe nodded, reaching out to take the joint from his fingers. 

Turning away from Robbe, Sander pushed himself to his feet. He brushed the dust and dirt off his pants before looking up to the night sky. Because they were the middle of the city, it was harder to see some of the stars, hidden and obscured by the lights around them. Even the moon was gone, hiding behind a few clouds that were drifting through the night sky, shrouding the backyard in complete darkness—save the remnants of magenta peeking out of the windows.

As Sander stared at the night sky, waiting for the clouds to free the moon, something warm brushed against Sander’s wrist. The touch was featherlight and gentle, caressing his wrist before sliding down to his hand and _tugging_. Sander turned, glancing down to find Robbe’s hand holding onto his. 

Robbe was leaning against the railing, his legs sprawled out in front of him. The small joint was perched on his lips and he was taking another drag of his cigarette. Robbe was staring up at Sander, a deep wanton look in his beautiful brown eyes. The look halted Sander in his tracks and his heart seized violently in anticipation. 

When Sander did not move toward him, Robbe tugged again, harder and more forceful than before. Caught off guard, Sander stumbled, barely managing to catch himself on the railing before he flattened himself—and Robbe—against the steps. Despite this, Robbe didn’t seem too worried, simply tugging Sander closer and closer until he was kneeling on one of the lower steps. 

A laugh escaped Sander’s lips, his heart fluttering hopefully in his chest. “What’s going on, Robbe?”

Even with the remains of the joint in his mouth, Sander could still detect the smirk on his lips. Robbe straightened up, moved closer toward Sander, before letting go of the joint. It dropped from his mouth and tumbled onto the steps beneath them. Once it disappeared from Sander’s line of sight, the thought of it vanished from Sander’s mind as Robbe inched closer, agonizingly slow. 

There was a small puff of smoke that slowly escaped Robbe’s mouth. As his mind slowly realized what was happening, Sander found himself unable to look away from Robbe. He reached toward Sander, one hand hooking behind his shoulder and the other tangling in his hair, pulling him closer. Suddenly, they were so close, face-to-face, their noses brushing together, and that’s when Robbe’s mouth dropped open and he exhaled. 

All at once, the smoke filled the air between them. On one hand, it couldn’t beat the real feeling of smoking a cigarette—the long-anticipating drag, the smoke filling his lungs as he inhaled, the exhale of the smoke into the air, watching it disappear. But, on the other hand, nothing could ever beat this. Robbe was so close, his head angled up so their lips would brush together agonizingly, the smoke leaving Robbe’s mouth and drifting into Sander’s. Robbe’s hands gripping at Sander’s hair, holding them together, even though Sander had no intention of pulling away. 

As the smoke started to dissolve into the air, Sander leaned toward Robbe, pressing their foreheads together, and Robbe tilted his head up to brush their noses together. Sander reached up, running his hands through Robbe’s curls, gripping onto them like a lifeline, and relished in the gasp that escaped Robbe’s mouth, “Sander.” 

Once the smoke had disappeared from the air, vanishing into the air around them, Robbe’s eyes fluttered closed—without fully realizing, Sander’s did as well—and Sander felt Robbe’s hot mouth press against his. 

As soon as their mouths met, their lips molded together again, all-too-familiar with how their mouths would meet. The kiss was warm and hot and borderline desperate, their lips moving together hurriedly and leisurely all at once. Whenever they kissed, either in the shadows of a party or the comfort of their bedrooms, Sander always felt as though the entire world tilted beneath him, shifting toward Robbe and his axis, and this kiss was no exception.

Sander kissed him as hard as he could, their lips moving together ardently, and relished in another gasp from Robbe that was muffled by their kiss. The hand on Sander’s shoulder went to his neck, his fingers gripping hard at his nape. Sander gripped a little too tighter at Robbe’s curls, pulling him toward the edge of the step so their bodies were flush together. Instantly, Robbe wrapped his legs around Sander’s waist, forcing him closer than they were before—their chests and hips now completely flushed together. 

Unable to help himself, Sander traced Robbe’s bottom lip with his tongue. Before he had fully completed the action, Robbe’s mouth dropped open instantly and Sander licked past his lips, tasking Robbe’s mouth once again. Unsurprisingly, Robbe tasted like smoke and stale beer—the one that Sander had too—but he tasted like Robbe, warm and familiar to Sander’s taste buds. 

Sander’s heart beat madly in his chest, trying to leap from it’s dreaded cage made of bone so it could mold with Robbe’s—fuse with his very being as if he didn’t own it already. Every few minutes, they were forced to pull back so they could catch their breaths. Robbe would press their foreheads together, practically leaving them to pant against each other’s mouths. Once Sander’s breath would manage to steady, Robbe was leaping forward again to push their mouths together again, stealing whatever breath Sander had managed to recover. 

When their hips dragged together, instinctually, their kiss broke apart and they unabashedly moaned aloud, uncaring who might’ve heard. Robbe let out a breath, wrapping his arms around Sander’s shoulders, and brought him closer. For a second, Robbe simply held Sander against him and Sander buried his face into the curve of Robbe’s neck. Sander couldn’t help the need to suck on the skin, biting down so he could cause Robbe to moan brokenly against his ear. 

“Sander,” Robbe managed. 

When Sander did not move, Robbe pulled roughly at the strands of his hair so he could drag him away from his neck before Sander could leave a proper mark. Sitting like this, Robbe looked so beautiful, looking on the verge of falling apart right here on the steps. Sander couldn’t help the need to press another kiss against his lips. This kiss was gentler and softer than the ones before, but it flamed the fire forming in Sander’s gut and Robbe practically _whined_ against his lips as he pulled back. 

“Sander, take me home,” Robbe said again. Sander could practically feel the desperation as Robbe practically begged, “ _Please_.” 

It really wasn’t a surprise that Sander nodded instantly. He surged forward, dragging their lips back together. Instantly, Robbe leaned forward to meet him, his hands dropping down to Sander’s waist. He could feel Robbe’s fingers hook in the belt-loops of his pants, trying to pull him closer. Pulling away, Sander brushed their noses together again, smiling widely at the small whine that slipped from Robbe’s lips, and said, desperation evident in his own voice, “I’ll take you home.” 

Robbe nodded, kissing him one last time, before they clambered up the back porch steps to head home. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was honestly going to wait to post this chapter, but you know what? fuck it.

All around him, Robbe’s bedroom was hot, nearly scorching against his skin. 

It probably did not help that Robbe’s skin was pressed flush against his own. Robbe had one leg wedged between Sander’s two, half leaning against his chest. However, despite the squelching heat in the room, Sander could not for the life of him ask him to move away. His skin was still partially drenched in sweat, a combination of their previous activities and the scorching temperature of his bedroom, and Robbe’s skin was the same, his skin shiny in the moonlight. 

But, even a glass full of ice water—that Robbe had gotten after Sander complained—and a drenched washcloth did nothing to squelch the blazing scorch of Sander’s skin. From the way that Robbe was holding his glass of ice to his forehead, Sander suspected that Robbe was having the same problem that he was having.

So, in an attempt to alleviate the scorching of their skin, or at least enough so they might be able to sleep, Robbe shifted away from Sander—earning a whine that made the former giggle—and pushed up the window beside his bed. As soon as it was open, a soft winter breeze drifted through the window. Even against the hot flush of his skin, Sander found himself shivering without reason and Robbe had laughed, shaking his head. 

“Cold already?” Robbe asked.

“No,” Sander said. As Sander pushed himself up on the bed, the sheet pooling at his waist, he added, “But, if you think so, maybe, you should come and help me warm up.” 

Even in the darkness of the bedroom, illuminated only by the white rays of moonlight, Sander could see Robbe’s cheeks flush heavily before he was kneeling onto the bed and leaning over to kiss him. The kiss was slow and gentle, lips gently moving against each other. Neither one of them was too hurried to start anything hot. While Robbe’s fingers curled into the hair at the nape of his neck, Sander wrapped his arms around Robbe and pulled him flush against his chest—uncaring about how hot their skin was when it was pressed together like this. From the way that Robbe melted into his chest and pressed closer, he seemed to feel the same way.

At one point, Sander had dug out his final joint from his wallet. Robbe’s eyes glinted in disbelief when Sander handed over the joint. Once it was in his fingers, Robbe was quick to light it, using the black lighter in the pocket of Sander’s jeans. The curves of his angelic face lit up in the orange glow of the flame, his brown eyes absorbing all of its warmth, as Sander lost his breath temporarily, unable to look away. Before tonight, Sander had sworn that he had seen Robbe at his most beautiful—not that he was not beautiful all the time—but it seemed that he needed to add Robbe smoking beneath the moonlight to the list. 

Once Robbe had taken a drag, he was quick to offer it to Sander, who took it greedily from his fingers. Robbe fetched an ashtray from a drawer in his nightstand, dropping a handful of pens and a flash drive on the table, and placed it down on the bedsheets. They traded the joint between them, taking turns before passing it on. After taking a long drag, Sander held out the joint to Robbe, who didn’t hesitate to lean forward toward it, ready to take a drag with the joint still in his fingers. Unable to help himself, Sander tilted his hand out of his reach. There was a challenging look in his eyes before he snatched Sander’s wrist, using his surprising strength to bring the joint to his lips—still resting in Sander’s fingers. 

Robbe giggled, the smoke tumbling from his lips, as Sander brought the joint to his lips. 

As Sander took a long drag, feeling those beautiful brown eyes focused on them, Robbe reached over and grabbed something off his nightstand. Sander hardly paid attention to what Robbe was doing. He was too focused on the way that Robbe’s hair fell against his forehead—and the way his smile was tugging up on his lips, exposing the divots of his dimples—to notice what was in his hand. 

At least, he didn’t notice until the blinking red light came into his peripheral vision and Sander realized that Robbe was holding a camera in his hands. When Sander started to sit up, reaching for the camera, Robbe giggled and pulled away, the lens never leaving him. Chuckling, Sander flicked off some ash into the tray before asking, “What are you recording me for?”

Robbe’s cheeks flushed pink. “No reason really,” Robbe said. His eyes were focused down on the camera, avoiding Sander’s eyes. Robbe fumbled with the camera and the red light on the camera blinked before shutting off and not coming back on. “I’m just doing a project for my film class and I just realized that a shot of you smoking would be perfect for it.”

Sander chuckled. “Without asking?” With the moonlight’s rays, Sander was able to spot the panicked look on Robbe’s face, like he really thought that Sander might be bothered by him filming. Sander couldn’t resist the urge to scoot closer to him, wrapping an arm low on Robbe’s bare waist. “It’s okay,” Sander said. He held out the joint to Robbe, who took it nervously. “I don’t mind being filmed by you,” he added.

Robbe raised his eyes to look at him fully. “Are you sure?” 

“Yeah,” Sander said. Robbe took a long drag of the joint, flicking the ash into the tray, before holding out the joint to him. Sander wrapped his fingers around Robbe’s wrist, tugging it closer to his mouth. “Now, you might have to persuade me to get rid of the sheet and show a little more skin, but I might consider it as long as you promise me that you’re the only person who is going to have access to it.” 

As Sander brought the joint to his lips, Robbe just stared at him with a blank expression—one of confusion. Once the realization hit, a lovely giggle escaped from Robbe’s lips, throwing his head back. “I would never ask you to do something like that, Sander,” Robbe said. “ _ Especially _ for a school project.” 

Sander chuckled, exhaling the smoke toward the open window. “Yeah, that would be a questionable thing to turn in,” he said. Once the smoke had disappeared, a small breeze floated into the window. A sharp shiver went down Sander’s spine and he, absentmindedly, leaned toward Robbe beside him. “So,” Sander asked. “What’s the project about?”

Robbe swallowed nervously. “It’s a reflective piece about how we view some aspect of the world around us,” Robbe said, his voice wavering. “For mine, I am focused on the school system and how we’re all defined by a letter grade. I did something similar in high school that was more for me than anything else, but I thought it would be interesting to see how I changed since then.” 

Sander nodded. “Well, it sounds really interesting,” he said. “When it’s completed, I hope you’ll let me see it?” 

“Maybe,” Robbe said, grinning at him. He reached up to frame Sander’s chin in his hand. “If you’re lucky.” 

Sander shook his head before he leaned forward so their lips would slot together, delighted when Robbe met him halfway. This kiss was gentle like the last, their lips moving together slowly and deliberately. Robbe wrapped an arm around Sander’s shoulders, bringing them closer. Sander reached up, running his hands through Robbe’s brown curls. 

When Robbe broke the kiss, leaning back, Sander chased after him, eager to slot their lips back together. However, Robbe pushed against his chest as he raised the joint to his lips. Sander flopped on the bed dramatically, barely avoiding toppling over the ashes in the tray, and Robbe chuckled at him. 

“So,” Robbe said. “Who’s that girl I keep seeing you with?”

A small smile tugged on Sander’s face. “Zoë?” 

Robbe made a dramatic show of rolling his eyes—going so far as to exhale the smoke directly in Sander’s face—before saying, “No, the girl with the purple hair from the café the other day.” Robbe smashed the joint against the bottom of the tray before placing it on the edge of the nightstand. “I’ve just seen you guys in the library a handful of times now.” 

“Well, you aren’t the only one with a school project,” Sander said. Robbe leaned over him, propping himself up on one elbow. “Celeste and I have art history class together and we’re in a group project with Amir and a few other people so we’ve been meeting up in the library a lot.” 

Robbe grimaced. “Group projects can either be incredibly good or really,  _ really _ bad.” 

“Yeah,” Sander said. “The group seems to be a good one with the sole exception of one guy named Liam, who constantly shows up late but refuses to do any work other than telling us what to do.” Robbe let out a breath. “But, other than that, the project seems to be doing good. We’ve managed to do a lot of the groundwork. Now, we just need to finalize our respective parts and start practicing our presentation.” 

“That’s good,” Robbe said. Still propped up on one elbow, he reached out, carding his fingers through Sander’s hair. Instinctively, Sander felt his eyes closed, feeling the gentle massage against his scalp. Robbe giggled and Sander reached out to poke his side, feeling him squirm. “You look so relaxed.”

“That’s because I am.”

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah,” Sander said, letting out a sigh. Opening up one eye, he looked at Robbe who smiled at him. Robbe kept repeating his motion, continuously scraping his nails against Sander’s scalp, massaging the skin with his fingertips, occasionally twirling a stray piece of hair around his finger. “Are you relaxed too, Robbe?”

For a second, Robbe was quiet before he nodded. “Yes. Always with you.”

“Me too.”

As soon as the words were out of his mouth, Robbe surged forward and their mouths met bruisingly in the middle. 

This kiss was unlike their other ones—at least the recent ones. This kiss was desperate as they couldn’t get enough of each other. This one was the kind of kiss that knocked you off your feet and temporarily made you forget where you were. This kiss was the kind that made your knees go weak—and the kind that made Sander’s heart soar hopefully in his chest. 

Robbe’s hand was at the back of Sander’s head, wedged between him and the sheets, and his finger curled into his hair tightly. Sander grabbed Robbe’s waist and pulled him closer, their chests flush together, until Robbe took the hint and straddled him. Robbe kissed him harder, his tongue sliding across his bottom lip, asking for Sander’s permission, and he wasted no time in granting his wish.

When Sander grabbed hold of Robbe’s curls, a groan escaped into their kiss as Robbe held him closer. There was a new fire building in his stomach, his skin lit up like the wildfire Robbe always managed to ignite, and Sander couldn’t bring himself to stop it now. From the way that Robbe was kissing him, so desperate and messy, Sander knew he felt the same way. 

Whenever Sander wrapped an arm around Robbe’s shoulders, flipping them over so Robbe was left beneath him, pliant under his body, there was a groan that escaped his lips—one that sent a wave of joy through the wildfire in his body, only making it grow larger and brighter. 

“Are you sure you want to start something this late?” Sander asked, knowing he didn’t want to stop. “Don’t you have work in the morning?”

Robbe nodded. “Yes, Sander,” he said, sounding almost annoyed. Robbe reached for him, wrapping his arms around Sander’s shoulders and giving them a tug. “Always.” 

Sander’s heart stuttered in his chest. 

Unable to help himself, Sander ran his hand through Robbe’s hair, pushing his curls off his forehead. Robbe tilted his head with the palm of his hand, trying to tilt their heads together for a kiss, but he was trapped beneath the palm of Sander’s hand. For a minute, Sander let Robbe writhe beneath him, trying to squirm out from beneath his hand, before he could not wait any longer and pressed their lips together.

* * *

Sander had a headache.

It was one of those headaches that halted his thoughts completely, screeching them to a stop. It left him in a state of constant annoyance where he could only manage to simply stare ahead, annoyed at anything and everything that crossed his path. Pounding between his temples, there was a constant pressure, wide like a band wrapped around his forehead, and it was positively distracting. 

On an average day, all Sander would take some medicine and hope that it would kick in, give him some sort of relief, so he would be able to concentrate. Sometimes, with or without medicine, the headache would fade away in an hour—give or take depending on how much the headache wanted to have mercy on him. Occasionally, it wouldn’t fade at all, persisting at pounding against his temples, throbbing and painful. 

However, medicine could only do so much when the cause of his headache was sitting directly across from him.

_ Liam. _

While sharing the same last name as his best friend—and, fortunately, not sharing any of the same DNA—Liam de Smet was the most intolerable and infuriating person that Sander Driesen had ever met. From the moment that they had met, all the way back in their first semester, Liam tried his hardest to one-up Sander at every turn and in every shared class they had over the years. Despite his chronic need to be better than Sander, he also wanted to do the least amount of work possible. Before now, they had never been paired for a group project—Sander was thankful because he heard complaints about Liam’s work-ethic from his friends—and he was quickly realizing how much he had lucked out.

Ever since they had met up today, Liam had done nothing but dig his heels in. 

He didn’t understand why they were meeting up on a Sunday, complaining loudly about it. He didn’t want to be a part of the presentation—and that’s the one thing that Sander agreed with because he didn’t want a large portion of his grade to rely on Liam. He didn’t want to do his part of the research, saying that he wanted to do the part that Anna wanted—which she had requested because of her job scheduling her so much. Because Anna was working and Amir had to leave early to meet up with Yasmina, it was only him, Liam, and Celeste.

And, the end of their group meeting couldn’t come soon enough. 

“Well,” Liam said, pushing himself up from the table. Before he had ruined the silence, Sander’s headache was barely starting to fade but it quickly came back with an annoying vengeance. Liam grabbed his unopened bag from his chair and tossed it over his shoulder before running a hand through his dumb hair. “I’ve got to get going.” 

“Okay,” Celeste said. While her voice was polite and kind, Sander could see the frustration in her eyes as well. “Please try to have your part started by Friday.” 

Liam scoffed, shrugging his shoulders. “It’s not due until next Wednesday.”

“Yes,” Celeste said. “However, our professor wants us to submit a rough draft of our full project on Friday so he can make sure we have all the parts. So, we need at least a part of yours. It doesn’t have to be complete just started.” 

In a typical douche-bag fashion, Liam made a dramatic move of rolling his eyes before he was stepping away from their table. “Gotcha,” Liam said, calling over his shoulder. “See ya later.” He turned around and headed towards the front entrance of the library. It took a few minutes before Liam’s footsteps faded completely, but as soon as they had vanished, Sander could feel his pounding headache lessen considerably. 

“Thank God,” Sander said, fiddling with his nose ring. Celeste laughed beside him as Sander turned towards her. His group member was closing her laptop and Sander quickly moved to follow, eager to leave the library which had lingering  _ Liam _ energy. As Celeste straightened her notes, putting them away in her bag, Sander said, “That guy gets on my last nerve.” 

Celeste laughed, pushing a chunk of purple hair behind her ear. “I don’t blame you. All he did the entire meet up was talk and not do anything,” Celeste said. She let out a frustrated breath and tossed her bag over her shoulder as she moved toward the walkway. “When Amir was here, he was a little better, but once it was just the three of us, it was like he turned the douchebag meter up to 15.” 

Sander let out a breath. He tossed his bag over his shoulder and followed after her. “Honestly, I wish I could say something positive,” Sander said. “But, unfortunately, that’s his normal attitude—at least for as long as I’ve known him.” 

“So,” Celeste said, tapping his shoulder. “What you’re telling me is Liam has always been a dick?” 

Even with the final remains of a headache still lingering in his skull, an unexpected laugh was ripped out of Sander. “Yes,” Sander said, laughing, as they walked into the main part of the library. “You’re absolutely right. That’s exactly what I’m saying.” 

“Good,” Celeste said. “Because I was going to say that I’m not really surprised. He’s really got this douchebag air, rich boy who always gets what he wants kind of vibe to him.” She made a faux gag before shaking her head. “I hate those kinds of people. I don’t know how he’s so popular.”

Sander chuckled. 

As they stepped into the main part of the library, their conversation about the dreaded Liam de Smet fell into peaceful silence. Even though the lobby was filled to maximum capacity with students hunched over their textbooks and notebooks, the room was eerily silent. There were no group conversations about projects or tests or loud laughing from someone with headphones. 

The library was just silent.

Unable to help himself, Sander glanced over at the café. 

Just like the study area across from the little shop, the café was similarly quiet. Sander could smell the warm aroma of freshly made pastries blended together with the bitter smell of coffee. The scents were so strong that Sander almost wanted to order a fresh bag of croissants and his regular order. However, in his quick glance over, Sander could not see Robbe behind the counter—and Sander had promised his mom that he would be headed to her apartment for their annual Wednesday night dinner.

Sander felt a nudge against his side, poking him right below his rib cage. He turned and found Celeste staring at him with a knowing look etched her face. She raised an eyebrow as a smirk twisted on her face as Sander simply stared at her confused. Finally, Sander asked, “What?”

Celeste gave him a look, raising an eyebrow, “Are you looking for your boyfriend?” 

Sander blinked at her in confusion. “Huh?” he asked, turning towards Celeste. “What are you talking about?” 

“Your boyfriend,” Celeste said. Her voice made it seem like it was obvious, but Sander continued to stare at her confusion. When Sander didn’t say anything, Celeste rolled her eyes and shoved his shoulder. “The barista from the café? The cute one with the curly hair that took our order last night?”

“What?” Sander asked. “He’s not my boyfriend.”

“Come on, Sander, I’m not stupid and I do have  _ eyes,  _ you know?” Celeste said. She took a step in front of Sander to push open the door and propped it open with her foot. As Sander stepped through, heading for the other door to push it open with his side, Celeste continued, “I know what I saw. At the party on Friday, I saw you guys sneak out of the front door and your  _ boyfriend _ couldn’t keep his hands off you.” 

“He’s not—” 

“Sander, I’m not stupid—”

“I’m not saying you’re stupid,” Sander said. “But, what I said is true, he’s not my boyfriend.” Celeste turned to him as they walked toward the parking garage. There was a confused look on her face and Sander let out a sigh, running a hand over his eyes. “We—I mean, Robbe and I—are seeing each other, but he’s not my boyfriend. We’re… um—” 

“Just friends?” Celeste filled in. There was a look on her face like she was kidding. However, when Sander nodded, her expression quickly turned into disbelief. “Wait, seriously?” When Sander didn’t respond, Celeste asked, “Let me make sure I’m understanding. You and the cute barista—sorry, Robbe—are having what I’m assuming to be casual sex and you’re saying that you guys are just friends.” 

“Yes,” Sander said. “That’s exactly what I’m saying.”

“And you believe that?” Celeste asked. 

A pang of annoyance shot through his chest. But, he wasn’t annoyed at the fact that Celeste was asking questions (okay, maybe a little). He was annoyed at the fact that all of her questions stung, reminding him that he and Robbe would always and forever be: just friends. “Yes,” Sander said, the annoyance seeping into his voice. “That’s all we are, Celeste. Friends.” 

For a split second, there was a knowing look that overtook Celeste’s feature. It was as though she had a sudden realization over their project or something else entirely. Her lips had curved up into a knowing smile and there was a twinkle in her eye. One second, she looked like she was going to say something, in the movement of doing so, but then, she stopped. Turning back to their walk, she shook her head and said, “Okay.” 

“Okay?” Sander echoed. When Celeste nodded, he asked, “What do you mean?” 

Celeste chuckled. “What do  _ you  _ mean?” 

“I don’t know,” he said, shrugging his shoulders. “For a second, it looked like you were going to say something else. Honestly, I felt like I was about to get a lecture.” Celeste laughed, her head falling back in laughter. “And,” he continued. “Then you just said ‘Okay.’”

Celeste shrugged. “I didn’t mean anything by it,” she said. “Just ‘Okay.’” Sander nodded. The parking garage was just on the other side of the street and they waited for a shiny red car to pass before crossing the street themselves. “So, after my exam Thursday evening, I was planning on coming to the library to work on my part of the project. I think Amir and Anna are coming as well—if you’d like to join.” 

Sander nodded. “Yeah, that would be great. I don’t have any plans on Thursday—at least ones that don’t include laundry. Plus, I could use your help on the opening paragraph. I don’t think I opened it right.” 

“Oh, if you want, you can always write the body paragraphs first then the introduction. Once you’ve already written something, it’s a little easier to introduce it.” 

* * *

_ Draw memories precious to you.  _

The instructions given by his professor rang through his head as Sander stared down at the empty sketchbook page in front of him. The assignment itself was simple: sketch four memories (references were optional) and turn it in for a homework grade. In comparison to his other assignments—ones that took longer and were more rigorous in their instruction—this one was by far the easiest. Before his professor had even finished giving them the assignment, Sander already had three memories in mind, jotting them down on the corner of his notes so he wouldn’t forget. 

For his first page, Sander had drawn his family. He chose to recreate the silly photo that his mother had them take when they all went on vacation to Paris. In the original photo, his mother had him and his father dressed in matching shirts, standing outside the hotel. For the sketch, Sander decided to change his clothes to his leather jacket and a Bowie shirt and his father into a regular polo shirt, but he kept everything else in the photo the same. His older sister had one arm wrapped around Sander’s shoulders and they were pulling at each other’s cheeks. Even in the original photo, Sander’s father had made a peace sign above his mother’s head, who was laughing. 

Next, Sander drew a photo of him and Senne hungover from a party—taken by Max van Damme, who was similarly hungover. It had taken Sander ages to find the photo, buried in years of photos and memories, but it was still one of his favorites. After waking up with a piercing hangover, they all managed to pull themselves out of bed and down to the bakery for a fresh bag of croissants. In the photo itself, the two of them were leaning up against the wall, sitting in their old dorm, and both were dressed in hoodies and joggers. Senne had his head on Sander’s shoulder and Sander was patting his head. 

After the photo of Senne was complete, Sander drew the first David Bowie vinyl that he had ever gotten. It had been a gift for his 17th birthday, one that his sister had gone to several different stores to find. He had gotten it the birthday after his diagnosis and he had been so excited that he listened to it for days. Every track, every note, Sander listened to it over and over again until he had it committed to memory and his mom had to drag him out of his bedroom. 

As he flipped to the next page, however, Sander found himself staring at the empty page. 

There was no sketch—not even an idea for what to draw—just Sander and an empty sketchbook page, staring at him accusingly, tauntingly. While his previous drawings had come easily, almost naturally, this one hardly gave him an inch and didn’t give him any idea where to even start. Still, there was a knowing thought in his head, like he had an idea on what to draw, but his brain couldn’t connect the thought with a connected memory or even a name. It felt as though the idea was resting in his fingers, ready to come to life, but his brain had simultaneously forgotten how to draw. 

Sander let out a sigh and dropped his pencil against his sketchbook. Pressing his fingers lightly against his temple, Sander hoped to alleviate the invisible block in his head, maybe to allow an idea to come to fruition for the final drawing. To Sander’s immense dissatisfaction, it only grew in size, halting his thoughts completely. 

Groaning loudly, Sander shoved his chair away from his desk and abruptly stood up. The wheels screeched loudly against the wood and he winced, unexpecting the noise. Sander was never an angry person. Even in the midst of midterms and projects, it took a lot to get him that far. In fact, only a threat to someone he loved or considered his family  _ might  _ shove him over the edge. But, the sudden loss of his creative flow, especially when it had been so free a few moments ago, combined with the invasive block in his head was enough to make him bend. 

Walking over to the record player on the dresser, Sander turned it on, reaching up to fiddle with his nose ring as the turntable began to rotate. 

Once Sander lowered the needle onto the vinyl, the opening rift sounded through immediately, filling his bedroom with the slow beat. Letting out an annoyed huff, Sander raised the needle a second late and delicately pulled the vinyl from the player.  _ Not that one _ . After slipping the record back into its sleeve, Sander went in search of the one that sounded just right. For a second, Sander feared he would have to go search through Spotify, but on the final record, a title of a song caught Sander’s eyes on the sleeve. 

_ Rebel, Rebel.  _

Carefully pulling the vinyl record from its sleeve, Sander felt as though his heart stopped beating. 

Before the needle was even put down, before the song’s opening notes had even started to play, Sander was transported out of his bedroom—and he was back into the dark space of the nightclub. There was the pounding bass all around him, the bright neon lights scanning the crowd, and the dancing crowd oblivious to Sander on the stage above them. And, in the midst of it all was Robbe. Robbe dancing in the middle of the crowd, surrounded by his friends, and holding a bottle of beer in his hand. 

The most beautiful man that he had ever seen, half-bathed in darkness and neon lights, dancing to one of his favorite songs by his favorite artist. It was no wonder that Sander had fallen in love so quickly that night. 

_ Buzz! _

The light ring of his phone could barely be heard over  _ Rebel, Rebel _ , but it brought Sander back to reality. He was standing in his bedroom with a David Bowie vinyl on his record player… and his phone was ringing. One hand instantly went into his pocket, fetching out the device, and the other reached out to pick the needle off the vinyl. 

On his home screen, there was a fresh set of messages from the boy that Sander had just been thinking about.

Robbe:  _ Are you home? _ _  
_ _ I’m outside your front door. _ _  
_ _ I’ve knocked a few times and no one answered… _

Typing out a message, Sander was already moving.

Sander:  _ Yeah, I’m home. Didn’t hear you knocking. _ _  
_ _ Be there in a second.  _

When his phone buzzes again, Sander was practically at the front door. 

Robbe:  _ Okay. _

As soon as Sander opened the door to let Robbe in, he could tell that something was wrong. 

Standing on the doormat, Robbe had his brown jacket over his shoulders with a green hoodie tucked out beneath it and wore a pair of worn denim jeans. His brown curls were in a state of complete disarray, sticking in all directions, and his cheeks were flushed a bright shade of pink. But, Robbe’s shoulders were slumped over, his backpack practically falling off his back, and he looked at Sander so small and lost. When their eyes connected, there was a look in Robbe’s beautiful eyes that pierced Sander’s heart as they started to tear up.

After a second, Robbe launched forward and buried his face into Sander’s shoulder, holding him tightly.

The collision of their bodies knocked Sander off-balance, stumbling to catch himself and keep himself from falling back onto the wood—and dragging Robbe with him. Sander wrapped an arm tight around Robbe’s waist, bracing him so he wouldn’t fall over, and reached out to close the front door. Guiding Robbe into the apartment, they stumbled until they were leaning against the entrance wall. Sander was leaning against the wall with Robbe pressed flush against him. Once they were steady, Robbe burrowed his face further into Sander’s shoulder, clinging tightly to his t-shirt. Robbe’s backpack slid from his shoulder and Sander grabbed it, placing it by the front door. 

For a minute, the two of them stood there, their bodies intertwined together against the wall. Sander could feel Robbe’s hands gripping tighter at his t-shirt, pressing their bodies closer together. Reaching up, Sander tangled his fingers through Robbe’s curls and tugged gently. Robbe tilted his head backward, looking up at Sander with sad brown eyes. Sliding his head down to cradle Robbe’s face, tilting it up so their eyes locked together, Sander asked, “Robbe, what’s wrong?” 

That seemed to be the magic word. 

Right in front of Sander’s eyes, Robbe’s grew glossy. Tears formed instantaneously, threatening to spill over the sides, as Sander straightened up against the wall, reaching up to cup his face with both hands. Robbe’s eyes fluttered close, probably to stop the formation of the tears, but it only succeeded in pushing the fresh tears over the edge. Two single tears slid down Robbe’s cheeks and Sander brushed them away with the pads of his thumbs. 

And, just like that, the dam broke. 

Once the tears had started, hot and fresh, they couldn’t stop. They spilled off the corner of Robbe’s eyes like a waterfall, splashing down against Sander’s fingers. Robbe stepped forward, hiding his face against his shoulder again. Sander couldn’t help the need to wrap his arms tightly around Robbe, bringing him as close as he could, and ran his hands through Robbe’s curls. A sob escaped Robbe’s lips, muffled against Sander’s shoulder. 

“I’m sorry,” Robbe said, his voice cracking before another sob slipped out. 

“It’s okay,” Sander whispered before pressing a kiss against his ear. “There’s nothing wrong with crying.” 

Robbe slumped further against him, pinning him back against the wall. His arms wrapped tightly around Sander’s body, his hands clutching desperately at his shoulders. Robbe’s sobs continued to increase in frequency and strength, dulled only his shirt. Sander held Robbe’s body snug against him, raking his fingers gently through his curls, and craned his head to place soft feather light kisses against his temple, his neck, anywhere he could possibly reach to comfort him. 

As Robbe’s sobs lessened and quieted, his grip on Sander’s shirt unwound. His murmurs and cries lessened as well and soon, Sander was simply holding him. For a moment, Sander feared that Robbe had simply fallen asleep against his chest right there, but when he asked, Robbe sniffled, gripping lightly to Sander’s shoulder to let him know that he was awake. Sander held Robbe close to his chest and Robbe let out a hum, light and gentle, as he turned to look at Sander. 

Swallowing, Robbe let out a cracked whisper, “I’m okay now. I think…”

Sander pressed a kiss against his forehead. “Are you sure?”

Robbe nodded. “Yes,” he said. “You can ask.”

“Okay,” Sander said. “What happened? I’ve never seen you that upset before…” 

“I know.” Robbe leaned back, standing up a little straighter. Where they had touched was still hot and flush and the cold air against it made him feel at a loss. But, as if somehow sensing it, Robbe squeezed Sander’s body with his arms as he let out a sigh. “It’s my mom,” Robbe said, his eyes glossing over. “After my test, I was texting my aunt and she called me…” 

A single tear slipped down his cheek. Robbe reached up to push it away, but Sander beat him to it. He wiped away the tear with his thumb. Robbe let out a sigh and leaned into the palm of his hand, his brown eyes flickering up at him. Sander watched him for a few moments before he asked, “What did your aunt say?” 

Robbe let out a small sigh. “It’s nothing bad,” he said. When Sander raised his eyebrows, Robbe added, “Or at least… it could be worse. But, um, my mom isn’t doing as good as I thought she was. Her medicine hasn’t been working as effectively and she didn’t want me to worry so she asked my aunt to make it seem like it wasn’t as bad as it was… at least until my test was over.” 

“Oh,” Sander said. Robbe nodded, reaching up to wipe at his eyes. “Is everything okay?” 

Robbe smiled lightly, shaking his head, and the smile slipped into a frown. It was one of those sad and sorrowful smiles, one that Sander never wanted to see on Robbe’s face ever again if he could help it. “No,” he said. “She’s not doing okay.” As Sander leaned back against the wall, gripping Robbe’s waist tightly, Robbe continued, “I got the quick version from my aunt. She had a bad episode a few days ago and her doctor wants to change her meds and she’s not doing too good.” 

“But, your aunt is staying with her, right?”

“Yeah, she is,” Robbe said, nodding. “And, she extended her trip another week so my mom won’t have to be alone during the day. I just…” he trailed off, biting down on his lower lip. Sander reached up, running his hands through his hair. Robbe leaned his head back and looked up at Sander, who waited. Finally, Robbe let out a sigh and added, “I just wish I could be there with her… but I don’t think I can. I’ve got a test next Wednesday and an essay due Monday that I need to work on and—” 

“Hey, Robbe,” Sander said, cutting off his fast-paced speech. “Look at me.” Robbe swallowed, his brown eyes darting up to join with Sander’s green ones. “Your mom loves you and, if you don’t think you can go home and be with her right now, you know that she would not want you to risk your grade. I know that you want to be with her but, sometimes, you’re helping by living your life, okay?” Robbe let out a breath and Sander paused before continuing, “Trust me, Robbe. If your mom doesn’t want you to worry, you going home might only make things worse because she’s worried about you and your coursework. You’re not a bad person for being unable to go home.” 

Robbe stared up at him with those bright beautiful doe eyes. Sander could see the insecurity swimming in them so easily. “Are you sure?” he asked, so quietly, like he didn’t believe it himself. 

“Yes.” 

For the first time since Robbe arrived, that small beautiful smile wormed its way onto Robbe’s face and Sander couldn’t help the small mirroring smile that grew on him. Peaceful silence filtered between them as they stood there in the entryway, wrapped in their own little bubble. Robbe was simply looking up at Sander with those wide-brown eyes that he loved so much and Sander couldn’t help the way his heart pounded.

“Thank you,” Robbe said, breaking the silence. 

Sander blinked, feeling his eyebrows pinch together, confused. “For what?”

Robbe chuckled. “For not turning me away.” Suddenly, unable to meet Sander’s eye, Robbe reached up to wipe away the somewhat-dry tear stains on his cheeks with the sleeve of his jacket. Robbe’s mouth dropped open, then closed, before he said, “I… I just really needed to be here.” 

“Robbe,” Sander said. “If you needed to talk to someone, I would never turn you away, okay?” Robbe raised his head, their eyes locking together intensely. Sander reached up to cradle Robbe’s jaw again, wiping his thumb along his cheekbone. “Whenever you need me, I’m all yours. I promise.” 

Like flipping a switch, the look on Robbe’s face shifted drastically. Now, it was one of shock and disbelief with his eyes going as wide as saucers and his mouth dropping open slightly. Sander’s heart seized in his chest as his mind began to spin violently. Had Sander said too much? Had he gone too far? Then, Robbe’s eyes suddenly dropped down to Sander’s lips and stayed there as Robbe leaned forward and kissed him soundly. 

Unlike most of their kisses, this one was chaste and sweet. Robbe shifted his body forward so they were flush together again. Sander wrapped his arm high on Robbe’s waist and moved his hand to settle on the nape of his neck. Robbe wrapped one arm around Sander’s shoulders and slipped his fingers into the strands of Sander’s hair. This kiss was slow, lips moving together softly, and Robbe pulled him closer. 

They separated briefly, simply breathing in each other’s presence, then Robbe kissed Sander again. 

Harder.

This kiss was bruising to the touch, scorching compared to their previous kiss. Robbe leaned further into him, steadying himself against his body, and Sander couldn’t help matching him in intensity. One of Robbe’s hands slid down Sander’s chest before settling down on his waist. Sander’s entire body felt as though it had suddenly been ignited by Robbe’s kiss, warming him from the inside out. Sander could only hope that the fire glowing inside of him was as healing for Robbe as it was for him. 

With Robbe guiding them through the apartment, they somehow managed to stumble back into Sander’s bedroom, still intertwined tightly around each other. Sander had a large fistful of Robbe’s curls held in his hands, holding him tightly against his chest, and Robbe had one hand still in Sander’s hair. Somewhere along the way, Robbe had lost his jacket—right inside his bedroom door—and one of his warm palms had slipped beneath the hemline of his shirt. Their lips were moving together lucidly, pushed apart with a content hum, as they pulled each other closer, desperate to feel their skin pressed against each other, clinging to one another. 

The hand on the back of Sander’s head, twirling some of the longer strands of his hair, slowly slid down his chest before slipping beneath his shirt. Robbe’s warm palms mapped out the skin beneath his t-shirt as they had never done it before—as though it was the first time all over again. Sander heard himself groan, echoing in the back of his throat and disappearing into the kiss, and he could feel the corner of Robbe’s lips tug up. Taking pity on him, Robbe removed his hands from beneath his shirt—Sander, understandably, whined—and grasped the fabric in his hands, pulling it up. 

It was only when Sander’s shirt was halfway up his body that he remembered why Robbe had come over in the first place. 

Even though there was nothing more Sander wanted to do than to keep kissing him, he took a step back, breaking the kiss and separating their intertwined bodies completely. As a result, Robbe was left struck and confused, stumbling to regain his balance. His eyes were wide again and his hands were hovering where Sander had just been standing, looking at him in confusion. Swallowing heavily, Sander asked, “Are you sure?” 

Sander could see the realization in Robbe’s brown eyes, filling up his beautiful brown irises, before they softened all together. Letting out a sigh as a smile grew on his face, Robbe nodded. “Yes,” he said. Robbe took a step forward, then another, and then one more, until his hands were resting on Sander’s chest. “I’m sure.” Robbe stood on his toes to press their lips together softly. When he pulled back, Sander held himself back from chasing after him. “I want this, Sander.” Robbe paused before adding, nervously, “Do you?” 

Sander let out a breath. “Yes,” he said. “But, only if you want to…”

Robbe kissed him again, winding his fingers through his hair. Sander let out a pleased sigh into their kiss before pulling back, just enough to break the kiss so they could talk. “Tell me—” Sander started before getting cut off by another kiss. “Robbe,” Sander said, wrapping his arms around Robbe’s waist again. Robbe glanced at him, brown connecting with green all over again. “Please, tell me if you want to stop, okay?” 

“I will,” Robbe said. He grabbed the front of Sander’s t-shirt and pulled him toward the bed. Robbe leaned up to him, pressing a soft featherlight kiss against his lips. When Sander let out a wavering breath, shoving away the light whine before it was noticed, Robbe grinned brightly before whispering, “I promise, Sander.” 

* * *

Sander wasn’t sure when he had fallen asleep. 

After they had both crashed, kissing and clinging to each other desperately, Sander had grown unexpectedly tired. There was a look on Robbe’s face that he couldn’t identify, one that worried him immensely. Sander had reached out to take his hand, intertwining their fingers, and Robbe pressed a kiss to his fingertips and he was out. He hadn’t completely fallen asleep though, at least not at first, waking up slightly to feel Robbe’s hands in his hair or to see Robbe staring at him so sweetly or pressing a kiss to his forehead. He vaguely remembered telling Robbe to sleep and Robbe giggling, that look in his eyes. 

And,  _ then _ , Sander really fell asleep. 

He knew because there was nothing. Just the pitch-black darkness of sleep and nothing else. There were no dreams, no images, no sounds, nothing—just darkness. To Sander, it felt like blinking because, the next thing he knew, he was awake again, facing his bedroom without any lights on. From the way that the moon was high in the sky, he knew that it had been hours—not minutes. 

All of the lights were off in the apartment and Sander was alone in the bed. At first, he didn’t think anything of it and simply turned over so the moonlight wasn’t as bright. He stretched his arm over the empty space next to him and reached for a pillow. The other side of the bed was still warm to the touch and his bedroom door was still wide open. His tired brain gave a reasoning without hesitation, Robbe must’ve been in the bathroom. Sander nearly listened to the siren’s call to sleep, but he glanced toward the open door.

When Sander looked out the door, he could not see a sliver of light from beneath the bathroom door. In fact, the door was shut and the light was off just like they were in the rest of the apartment. Once the realization connected in his head, he realized that there was a vacant spot inside the bedroom door where Robbe’s jacket had been tossed. 

Sitting up, Sander called, “Robbe?” 

When there was no response in the apartment, Sander tried again. He shifted closer to the bedroom door so he could glance into the living room. Sure enough, the room was completely pitch black. Rubbing his eyes, he leaned down and grabbed his shirt and boxers. As he tugged his clothes on and stood up, he realized that his bedroom was littered with his clothes—not Robbe’s. 

Whatever remaining sliver of sleepiness remained vanished, leaving him wide awake. Sander glanced around his bedroom, hoping to find a small note propped up against something. Since the beginning, since Robbe had left him that first night, they had always left notes—an explanation—for why they had to leave and they had always done it—a ritual, a habit. But, there was none. There was no note on the nightstand or propped up on the pillow or on his desk or bag and the thought left a sinking feeling in his gut. 

Stepping into the hallway, Sander called again, “Robbe?” 

Again, there was nothing. 

Logically, Sander knew that something could’ve come up—an emergency with his mama or his friends calling him—and that was why Sander woke up in an empty bed. But, there was a deep, knowing feeling in his gut that made his hair stand up. It was as though his entire being—his entire  _ heart _ —knew that something was completely and utterly wrong. 

Swallowing down his nerves, and his jumping heart, Sander checked around the apartment. 

As he had suspected, the bathroom was completely empty and it didn’t like it had been used. The kitchen was still the same that Sander left it, complete with the used croque pan in the sink. When the remaining rooms turned up empty, Sander even peeked into Senne’s room, but it was completely bare of Robbe and it’s occupant—the latter of which was at Zoë’s apartment for the evening like every Thursday. Even Robbe’s backpack was gone from the front door, leaving a vacant spot beside Sander’s boots. 

Returning to his bedroom, Sander found his phone on the charger—did he put it there before going to sleep?—and pulled it off. The screen lit up, showing a few messages from Celeste—asking if he was meeting them at the library and then if he was okay—and Sander quickly navigated to his phone app. As soon as it was pulled up, he called Robbe. At the dial tone rang, Sander could hear his own heartbeat pounding louder in his ears. 

But, as much as Sander wished that he would hear his voice picking up, Robbe never answered the call. 

“ _ Your call has been— _ ” 

Sander hung up the phone. 

Quickly, navigating to his messages, Sander typed out a message. 

Sander:  _ Robbe. _ _  
_ _ I woke up and you were gone.  _ _  
_ _ Are you okay? _

Sander stared down at the messages, his thumbs hovering over the keys. His feet took him to the kitchen and the mere thought of a fresh cup of coffee sounded delicious to his sleepy brain. Still, his eyes remained fixed on the messages in front of him—even as he pulled down his favorite David Bowie mug. Swallowing down his nerves, Sander typed out one more message and hit send. 

Sander:  _ Robbe, please tell me you’re okay. _

The mechanical whirl of the coffee machine had barely begun, starting to heat up the water, before Sander was reaching for his phone again. To his dismay, and confusion, he saw that Robbe’s icon—one of the many selfies that they had sent together, this one being Robbe squinting in the sunlight, his bright and beautiful smile plastered on his face—had popped up in place of the previous blue checkmark. Robbe had read Sander’s messages… but he did not respond. It was possible that he hadn’t gotten the chance too, but that feeling returned in his stomach again, weighing him down. 

_ Robbe. _

Letting out a sigh, Sander stared at his phone and pressed the call button again. 

The dial tone still drew out for far too long, each new  _ ring _ knocking Sander’s anxiety up a little more as his heart clutched dangerously. Each new dial is another chance for Robbe to pick up the phone, to let Sander know that everything was okay. However, each time one dial tone ended, another one immediately followed and Robbe did not pick up the call. Finally, after four rings, it kicked off abruptly and the recorded message began. 

_ “Your call has been forwarded to an automatic voice message system. Please leave a message after the beep.”  _

It was a few more beats of dreaded silence before the beep sounded. 

“Hey Robbe, it’s Sander,” he said. Sander could hear the sadness in his voice and he swallowed, hoping to be rid of it. However, all it did was muddle it a little. “I’m sorry for spamming you with messages so late. I just woke up and I saw that you were gone. I just wanted to make sure everything was okay. If you need anything, you know that I’m always here for you.” For another heartbeat, Sander was silent, hesitating over the  _ end  _ key, before adding, “Please let me know you’re okay.” 

Then, Sander hung up. 

Practically dropping it down on the counter, Sander ran his hands over his face and let out a sigh. Grabbing a hold of his coffee mug and his phone, Sander moved back into his bedroom. The room was as empty as he had left it. There were no clothes thrown across the bedroom floor and, even though he knew that, he felt his heart plummet a little more. 

As soon as the mug was on the nightstand, Sander collapsed onto the side of the bed that Robbe had been sleeping on. He hadn’t meant to, truly, but he had done it all the same. Even after his search around the apartment, there was still a hint of warmth remaining—but that might’ve been Sander’s imagination. But, the pillow was coated with the smell of Robbe’s cologne and shampoo. Sander couldn’t help pressing his face into the fabric, closing his eyes to imagine Robbe at his side. 

_ Maybe Robbe’s asleep and opened the messages while he was asleep _ , Sander thought.  _ Maybe that’s why he didn’t answer. _

As if summoned by the universe, Sander’s phone went off—not one, not two, but  _ three  _ separate times—and he reached for where it had fallen near his thigh. When he saw  _ Robbe _ on his lock screen, Sander bolted straight up and unlocked his phone.

Robbe:  _ I’m okay. Sorry, I forgot to leave a note. _ _  
_ _ But…  _ _  
_ _ Sander, I don’t know if I can do this anymore.  _

Sander blinked. 

Sander:  _ Do what? _

It was a few more heartbeats before the message came through—and Sander was certain that his heart had stopped beating in his chest. 

Robbe:  _ Us. Our arrangement.  _

Even though he knew that this day would happen, Sander’s heart plummeted. There was always going to be the day where Robbe didn’t want to continue their arrangement—didn’t want to kiss Sander anymore, didn’t want to seek each other out at parties, didn’t want to sneak around anymore—and Sander had come to terms to that ages ago. Ever since they had started this arrangement, there had always been a natural end that they would reach inevitably and Sander knew that Robbe would be the one to end it. But, despite that, Sander didn’t expect how much it would hurt all the same or that it would be so soon… especially after they had just been together…

Feeling his chest tighten up, his heart shredding itself to pieces in his chest, Sander somehow managed to type out a coherent message. 

Sander:  _ What did I do wrong? _

Immediately, the gray bubble appeared and Robbe was typing out a message which came through a few minutes later.

Robbe:  _ It’s not you Sander. It’s me. _ _  
_ _ I just don’t think I can do it anymore.  _

Sander swallowed, his thumbs sending out a message before his brain could process. 

Sander:  _ Why? Is everything okay? _

Once Sander had sent the message, it was read instantly—Robbe’s beautiful icon replacing the barely visible blue checkmark. If Robbe had the messages open, it wasn’t a surprise that he had read it instantly. For a split second, there was the gray bubble that appeared again—indicating that Robbe was there and typing a message. Sander couldn’t tear his eyes away from his phone, waiting for the message to come through. 

But, the message never came.

* * *

Since he had moved into the apartment, the roof of the building had become a place for Sander to escape to when he started to feel like this. 

In terms of rooftops, especially some of the ones that Sander had discovered around town, there was hardly anything special about this one—aside from the fact it was the rooftop of his apartment building. There was not a single piece of furniture—simply the large air conditioner and the stairwell down to the rest of the building—and there wasn’t a fancy hot tub to climb into. Even during the summer, it was practically worthless for sunbathing since most of the surrounding buildings cast large shadows. To Sander, it was a place that he felt at home and at peace, simply staring at Antwerp and the Scheldt, as the world turned on.

However, this morning, not even the majesty and comfort of the roof could distract from the fact that his heart was breaking, shattering in his chest. 

It had been hours since Sander had woken up to an empty bed, hours since Robbe had left him on read, and still, his entire body was still reeling from it all. After trying, and failing miserably, to fall asleep in his room, Sander had brewed a fresh cup of his favorite coffee and headed to the roof to look at the stars. He had been back to the apartment a few times—for an extra blanket, his beanie, and more coffee—but he didn’t feel tired or sleepy. Just… numb. 

His phone vibrated in his hand. 

Even though Sander knew it wouldn’t be Robbe, it didn’t stop the hopeful rise in his chest. But, he turned his phone over and saw his best friend’s name on the notification. 

Senne:  _ Where are you? _ _  
_ _ I just got home to grab some things and the apartment is empty. _

There was a teasing thought that jumped in his brain—because really,  _ Senne  _ up before 10 and so early at that?—but Sander held it back as he typed out a reply. 

Sander:  _ On the roof. _

Senne’s response was immediate and quick, popping up without hesitation. 

Senne:  _ Is everything okay? _

Sander:  _ No. _

The gray bubble popped up on the screen quickly before the message was coming through.

Senne:  _ I’ll be there soon.  _

Sander:  _ Bring fresh coffee. _

Senne responded with a flurry of emojis, ranging from a single, solitary thumbs up to three of the kissing emojis. Sander laughed, weakly, at his friend’s antics before leaning back against the concrete wall. 

The deep blue of the night sky had been slowly dissolving over the past hour. The bright twinkle of the stars had all disappeared alongside the moon as the morning’s pastel blue slowly overtook the night’s dark hues. The shift was slow and deliberate but so natural and beautiful. It only happened twice a day, but Sander was usually never awake for this one. The shift in colors from deep blue to pastel blue to red and yellow and purple in the morning sky was something so beautiful and breathtaking. 

More than once, Sander tried to replicate the shifting colors of the morning sunrise. He had spent many nights where he couldn’t sleep on the roof, trying to get it all so perfect and pristine. But, he had never been able to completely replicate it before—at least in the majesty of the real thing. But, tonight, he was simply here to watch and bask in all of the glory that the sunrise possessed. 

The door to the roof opened and Sander turned to see. Senne’s head popped around the corner almost comically before he showed the two cups of coffee in his hand. Like Sander, Senne was dressed in one of his winter coats, a pair of sweats, and he even had a pair of gloves on. He handed one of the cups to Sander before sliding down to sit next to him, draping half of the blanket over his legs. 

“Do I want to know why you’re up so early?” Sander asked. 

“No, you don’t,” Senne said. “Let’s just leave at that.”

“Did Milan have someone come over?” Sander guessed. When Senne winced, an unexpected laugh echoed out of him, but it faded quickly, disappearing as soon as it started. Letting out a sigh, Sander took a sip of coffee. 

“So,” Senne spoke up, glancing over at him. “What’s going on?” Swallowing nervously, Sander stayed quiet and leaned against the concrete wall behind them. Senne turned to him, shifting the blanket over their legs as he did so. When Sander turned to face him, Senne raised a challenging eyebrow, “Look, San, I love you but you’re not going to get out of this one, okay? You can try and pretend that there is nothing wrong but you just admitted to me five minutes ago that everything isn’t okay.” 

“I did, didn’t I?” Sander breathed out.

Senne laughed before saying, “Yes, yes you did.” However, the goofy grin that was on his face quickly disappeared and was replaced with a serious one. “But,” he added. “Even if you hadn’t, I still know when something is on your mind. So, what’s going on?” 

Sander let out a sigh. “I fucked things up.” 

For a minute, Senne stayed quiet before asking, “With whoever Sarah is?” The silence between them grew in intensity, interrupted only by the gentle sounds of the morning crowd moving around. Finally, Sander dropped his head, staring down at the cup of coffee in his hands, and nodded. Once he had done so, Senne continued, “So, what happened between you and Sarah—I mean, whoever they are—”

“It’s Robbe,” he interrupted. 

Somehow, Sander hoped that saying it aloud would make it hurt less. However, the only thing it managed to achieve was his heart lurching in his chest, tightening at the mere mention of Robbe’s name. It had been hours, but still, the wound felt so fresh. 

“Robbe?”

Sander nodded. “Yeah,” he said. Sneaking a glance at Senne, Sander expected to see a look of anger or confusion on his features. Instead, he found a look of realization had taken over Senne’s features as though Sander had simply told him the way to achieve all of his wildest dreams. When Senne didn’t respond or say anything at all, Sander continued, “A few months ago, right around the time that you and Zoë got together—maybe even a little before, he and I met at a party and we’ve been… sleeping together casually since then.” 

His best friend blinked at him in surprise. “Oh,” he said. Senne took a long sip of his coffee before saying, “I knew that you were hung up on someone— _ Robbe _ —for a while now, but I guess I didn’t realize that it had been for quite so long.” High above them, the reds and the oranges began to bleed into the morning pastel blue sky, signaling that the sun would be making its morning debut soon. Nudging Sander’s shoulder, Senne asked, “So, what happened that makes you think you fucked it up?” 

“I have feelings for him.” Closing his eyes, Sander confessed, “But, I don’t know, Senne. I feel like I might even be in love with him.”

A pause. “Did you tell him?” 

“No,” Sander said, shaking his head. Before Senne could speak up, Sander continued. “At that party, we ended up going home together and the next day, when we ran into each other, Robbe told me that he didn’t want to do anything serious… and I don’t know why I did it but I lied.” 

The sun appeared in front of them, popping over the horizon. Both of them had to turn away, the bright light being too much without sunglasses, but Sander kept track of its path in the morning sky. Turned toward him, Senne was quiet, waiting for Sander to continue. 

“I lied about what I wanted with him because I was so drawn to him that I didn’t care about getting hurt. He was funny and he was kind and beautiful and smart. If he wanted to keep things casual, I was more than willing to keep things casual between us. So, that’s all we were, just friends—just friends who had sex occasionally—and I was okay with that,  _ really _ ,” Sander said, turning toward Senne. “I also wanted something more but I was okay with it. Because, maybe, I wouldn’t be able to be with him forever but I’d be able to be with him for a little bit and now—” 

Sander trailed off, letting out a sigh.

“And now?” Senne asked. 

“I don’t know what happened,” Sander said, his voice quiet. “He came over earlier and stayed over, but when I woke up, he was gone and he didn’t leave a note like he normally does. When I called to see if he was okay, he didn’t answer me. Instead, he sent me a text and said that he couldn’t keep doing this, our arrangement.” Sander dropped his head, looking down at his hands. “But, he wouldn’t tell me why, and then he didn’t reply to my last text and… I just don’t know what happened, Senne.” 

As the sun peaked out fully from the horizon, bathing all of Antwerp and the Scheldt beneath its warm beautiful rays, Senne scooted closer to Sander, wrapping his arms tightly around him. Sander leaned into his best friend’s embrace, clutching at his coffee cup. The two of them sat there for a while, the silence and the morning rays wrapping around them as the world kept moving around them. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pls don't kill me.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the chapter has arrived and it's a long one.

Sander didn’t know how long he had been asleep.

Once the sun had fully risen in the morning sky, Senne had pulled the sleepy and somewhat distraught Sander from the roof. Together, though Sander was a little slower, they collected the bundle of blankets that he had brought to the roof before heading down to their apartment, gripping their empty mugs in their hands. Even on the roof, dozing off against Senne’s shoulder briefly, Sander’s minimum amount of sleep had already been catching up with him and the trip in the elevator made him more sleepy. Once Sander’s head hit his pillow—the one coated with Robbe’s lingering scent and shampoo—he was soon plunged into the darkness of sleep again.

Unsurprisingly, his dreams were filled with Robbe. 

Sander dreamed of Robbe, wrapped tightly in his arms, holding him close as they laid in bed, their legs tangled together beneath the sheets. He could make out the freckles on Robbe’s shoulders, the gentle flush of his cheeks, and the dimples on his cheeks. Robbe was laying flush against Sander’s chest, their breaths in harmony as they held each other close. It was so realistic that Sander nearly believed that he would find Robbe right there in his arms, his fingers absentmindedly playing with his hair. But, Sander’s heart knew that he would not be there when the dream ended, slipping through his fingers like smoke until he couldn’t even remember. 

When Sander woke up, reluctantly blinking awake, his room was cloaked in darkness. His heavy curtains were drawn closed, blocking out the afternoon sun. There was a blanket tucked around his shoulders and the ones from the roof were tangled around his legs. None of his lights were on—not even the lamp on his desk—and Sander couldn’t tell if the darkness was comforting or taunting. The only light in the room was the small sliver of light that snuck between the wooden door and the frame. He could barely make out the smell of something cooking in the kitchen—his stomach let out a loud growl—and he could hear someone shuffling around outside. 

Sander sighed, stretching his arms above his head, and turned to confirm his fears. 

He was alone. 

His phone buzzed loudly against the nightstand, the screen lighting up in artificial blue light. Sander grabbed it, pulling it free from the charger. However, the phone tumbled from his fingers, hitting the ground on it’s side. “Shit.” Thankfully, there was no shatter and the screen was fine when he picked up the device. On the screen, there was a message from Celeste. When he navigated to the messages, he found a handful of messages that he hadn’t been the one to send—likely from Senne.

Sander: _Hey, this is Sander’s friend._ _  
_ _He’s not feeling well and won’t make it to class today._

Celeste: _Okay, let him know that I’ll edit his rough draft before we submit it for class._

Sander: _I will when he wakes up._ _  
_ _Thank you._

Celeste: _You’re welcome._

Below that, there was the new message that he saw on his home screen. 

Celeste: _Hey Sander._ _  
_ _I told Prof. Janssen that you aren’t feeling well and stayed home today._ _  
_ _He asked me to let you know that you can message him if you need more time._

Letting out a breath, Sander typed out a message. 

Sander: _Thank you, Celeste._ _  
_ _How much did I miss today?_

It only took a few seconds of staring before her response came through. 

Celeste: _Prof. gave Liam a talking to and threatened to make him do the entire assignment on his own._ _  
_ _Since he still hasn’t started his part yet and we’re trying to turn it in by Wednesday._

Sander: _Of course._ _  
_ _Why am I not surprised?_

As Sander looked at his other messages, finding a message from his mother telling him to feel better—but not from Robbe, he heard the shuffle of footsteps in the hallway. They stepped closer and closer until they were right aside the door that was being slowly pushed open. Sander glanced up, expecting to find Senne or possibly Noor. Instead, he found Zoë holding a cup of coffee in one hand and a plate of croques in the other. 

Flipping on the light with her elbow, Zoë smiled over at him. “Hey.”

“Hey,” Sander managed, blinking as his eyes adjusted to the light. 

“Here you go,” Zoë said, holding over the plate of croques. Sander glanced down to the plate before taking it from her hand. She placed the mug of coffee on the nightstand before turning back to Sander. “It’s just like you like them. Butter on both sides to make them extra crunchy.” 

Zoë was dressed in a pair of light-washed denim jeans and a light blue t-shirt beneath Senne’s black jean jacket. She had on a pair of mismatched socks—one pink and one green—that disappeared beneath the cuff of her jeans. Her hair was half tied up out of her face, tied back with a blue holder. Sitting down on the edge of his bed, nudging aside Sander’s legs, she said matter-of-factly, “You need to eat, Sander—and they’re hot and fresh, right off the stovetop. I even called your mama to make sure that I made them just right.”

“Zoë,” Sander said, groaning. He placed the plate down on his lap, balancing it delicately on his thighs. Even though his stomach growled intensely, longing and growing hungrier by the second, he did not move to grab one. Instead, he looked at his best friend’s girlfriend exasperatedly. “You didn’t have to make me croques.”

Zoë laughed. “I know, Sander,” she said. She reached up and flattened the wisps of Sander’s hair. “I wanted to do it for you.” She pressed a hand against his forehead as she pursed her lips, a thoughtful expression on her face. “Now, eat up or else, I’ll have to force you to eat—and, trust me, I’ve kicked Senne out of bed more than once. I will win.” 

“ _Zoë_ ,” Sander said. 

“No, eat,” Zoë urged, picking up one of the croques. 

“No,” Sander cut off, taking the sandwich from her hand. “What are you doing here, Zoë?” When she sent him a confused look, he continued, “On Fridays, you and Senne always come home together so we can all have dinner before we go out to a party or whatever. And, it’s too early that he’s still a class at this time.” 

The look on Zoë’s face said it all so clearly. Her face fell and she looked down at the plate of croques still perched on his lap. All at once, Sander’s heart felt like lead in his chest, weighing him down, sinking him down into the duvet on his bed. Zoë glanced at him before she said, “I asked Senne to bring me here before his second class because I didn’t want you to wake up alone. And, I didn’t have any classes or study groups to do and I would’ve been waiting around Senne. Plus, I wanted to be with you.” 

Swallowing, Sander asked, “Why?” 

Especially as Zoë grew quiet, tilting her head to the side, Sander feared the worst. Even as he tried to smother the negative thoughts swirling in his head, he could feel his darkest thoughts threatening to overflow. The last thing Sander ever wanted to do was to feel like someone had to take care of him—had to tiptoe the line around him because of his diagnosis. Sander had spent the last half of his life—since his diagnosis at the age of sixteen—unconsciously learning that he was a problem and his diagnosis was the source of it all. He didn’t want to make someone feel like they had to take care of him—in fact, it was his worst fear.

And he didn’t want Zoë—or Senne, or Britt and Noor, or… or even Robbe—to feel that way.

“You know you don’t have to take care of me, right?” Sander asked. 

Instantly, Zoë’s brown eyes met his, the look of belief evident in her stare. “Sander,” she said, understanding, knowing. “Of course, I know that. You’re perfectly capable of taking care of yourself. But, I’m not here because I feel like I have to take care of you. I’m here because I _want_ to take care of you. You’re my friend.” 

For a second, Sander simply stared at her, unsure what to say or what to do.

“Look, I know that we only really get the chance to hang out together when Senne is around, but you’re more than just my boyfriend’s best friend to me. You’re the guy who understands that Senne snores in his sleep and always makes me a cup of coffee on nights that I sleepover. You’re the guy who’s comforted me when Senne and I have both gotten a little hot-headed because we’re frustrated over school. You’re my friend who drinks wine with me and helps me dye my hair because no one else can do it as you do. If I have ever needed help or someone to talk to, you’ve always been there and I want to help you now too.” 

For a second, Sander didn’t say anything, simply staring at Zoë, who returned his gaze. Then: “Oh.” 

Zoë laughed, her nose scrunching up as she nearly doubled over. Unable to help himself, Sander chuckled as well, feeling the corners of his lips turning up. “Yeah,” Zoë said. “‘Oh.’” Reaching out, she enveloped her hand around Sander’s, the one still holding onto the corner of a croque, and gave it a gentle shove. “Now, _eat_ , Sander before they get too cold.” 

Sander made a show of rolling his eyes dramatically to Zoë’s immense amusement. Bringing the croque to his mouth, Sander took a bite of it, nearly blissed out. Croques had always been his favorite food—the one he went to in comfort and indulgence—but, today especially, it really seemed to hit the spot, like it was exactly what he needed to feel a little better. Zoë was a brilliant chef—Sander knew this already—but she had made it exactly right.

“So,” Zoë said, bringing him back to reality. Immediately, Sander spotted the wide grin on her lips, lighting up her entire face, and her eyes were bright, looking like a child who had just been given all access to a candy store. “How do they taste?” 

“Fantastic,” Sander said, grinning, before he took another bite. It was an understatement. They tasted like manna on Sander’s empty stomach. Somewhere between bites, he managed to get out, “Thank you.” 

“You’re welcome,” Zoë said, pushing herself up from the bed. “If you want any more croques, let me know and I will happily make you some more, okay?” 

As Zoë crossed the room, headed in the direction of the door to the hallway, there was a nagging question that had popped in the forefront of Sander’s brain, bypassing all of his previous thoughts. A part of him wanted to let it go, pretend it never happened, and leave it all to the curiosity of his brain. Plus, if he was being honest, this part of him was afraid of what the answer could possibly be. But, Sander also knew that he _needed_ to know… if Robbe was okay… if Zoë knew about him…

Without fully realizing it, Sander was speaking, “Zoë.” The girl stopped in the doorway, half turning to him. For a split second, Sander froze, the question latched on his tongue and unable to get out. Swallowing down his nerves, and the lump in his throat, he managed, “Did Senne tell you… about…” 

Sander trailed off, hiding his face in the palm of his hands as he let out a heavy sigh. He was about to tell Zoë to forget his question—or find some other alternative, such as Sander going back to see his parents over the holidays and questioning if Zoë was coming—when she finished his sentence for him, “About you and Robbe?” 

Sander nodded, avoiding her gaze.

“Yes,” Zoë said. “When he called me this morning, he told me about it. But, Sander… I kind of already knew.” 

Sander glanced up at her, but Zoë was not looking at him. Instead, her eyes were fixed on the many photographs framed around the room. All of the ones framed had been taken by him and, ironically, the one in question was one he had taken with Robbe. On some of his night excursions around campus, Robbe had gone with him and would always tease him immensely about it. The thought of Robbe on the rooftop, bathed in moonlight and smiling brilliantly, made Sander smile before reality came knocking. Unable to look any longer, Sander redirected his gaze to his plate and took another bite. 

“I mean,” Zoë said, speaking up. “I didn’t know fully what was going on so I didn’t connect the dots. But, now that I know, a lot of things are starting to make sense.” For a second, she paused, glancing over at him before continuing, “Like, how you and Robbe always seemed to disappear around the same times at parties where we were all at. How you two already seemed to know each other after Senne and I started dating. It’s just small things that I’ve noticed that made sense after Senne told me.” 

“So…” Sander asked, feeling his heart plummet already. “He didn’t tell you?” 

Zoë was quiet before she shook her head. “No, Robbe didn’t tell me about the two of you,” she said. Zoë paused, biting down on her bottom lip, before she added, “He didn’t specifically say that it was you. He told me that he was seeing someone occasionally, but he didn’t tell me that it was you.” 

Sander nodded, taking another bite of the croque in his hand. Silence fell over the small bedroom. Zoë shuffled from one foot to the other before leaning back against the door frame. Sander crossed his legs beneath him before reaching for his cup of coffee. 

“But,” Zoë said. “I think Milan knew about the two of you.” 

“Huh?” Sander asked, putting his coffee down. 

“There have been a few times where they would be talking in hushed whispers in the flatshare and they’d suddenly stop talking as soon as I would walk into the room,” Zoë said. She shifted, crossing her arms over her chest. “Since he used to live with us, Robbe has always been more open with Milan about his relationships and stuff like that. He’s still kind of shy when I ask him about it.” 

Sander nodded, taking another bite. “Is he okay?” 

Zoë shrugged. “Not really,” she said. “After Senne had called me to tell me what you told him when he stopped by to pick up his book—and why you were upset—I went to check on him. He was sitting at his desk on the computer. In all honesty, Sander, Robbe looked like he had been up all night.” 

“Yeah,” Sander said, letting out a sigh. “When he came over… he was upset but I fell asleep before him so…” 

Once again, silence fell between them, hanging on his shoulders heavily. The floorboard creaked as Zoë shifted and Sander glanced up to find her moving toward the bed. Once she was standing on the edge of his bed, she wrapped her arms tightly around his shoulders, squeezing him tightly. Sander leaned into her embrace, letting out a heavy sigh, and Zoë pressed a kiss to the top of his head. 

“Everything is going to end up okay, Sander.” 

“Is it?” he asked, his voice breaking. Zoë held him a little tighter before bringing him closer. “I love him, Zoë.” 

Earlier, on the roof, he had not been completely certain of his feelings for Robbe. Maybe, it was the emotional toll of waking up alone. Maybe, it was his own darkest thoughts second-guessing what he had known that first time he saw him—about how he always seemed to go too far, commit too hard only to get hurt. But, once Sander had fallen into his bed, comforted briefly by Robbe’s lingering scent, he knew. He loved Robbe. 

Zoë pressed another kiss to his head again. “I know,” she said. “But, there was a time that I could’ve never imagined that my life is what it is now. Despite all the heartbreak, life always manages to find a way to work itself out. It’s going to be okay.” 

“Promise?” 

“Promise.” 

For a few minutes, the two of them simply sat there, holding onto each other tightly. Then, Zoë pulled back, ruffling his hair. “I’m going to make more croques for when Senne comes home… if you wanted to come to join me in the kitchen?” 

Sander nodded. 

Zoë smiled at him brightly, reaching out to take the coffee mug from the nightstand, as Sander climbed off the bed, holding onto his place. When Senne arrived home, Sander was sitting up to the counter, listening to Zoë talk about classes as she cooked croques. There was a smile on Senne’s face as Sander fed him a fresh before he asked if they wanted to binge Marvel movies. 

* * *

The lecture hall—located on the first floor of the building—was filled to maximum capacity and buzzed tensely in discussion. The hall was filled with small desks that normally faced the outdated chalkboard above the stage. However, in this Monday morning Art History class, the stage was empty and the desks were turned to face another as the students discussed with one another. Each new group varied from one to the other some in more increased states of duress than the one before, and Professor Janssen circled between them all, stopping to answer questions and—occasionally—calm nerves. 

“Sander?” 

Even though his mind had registered the sound of his name, it was the nudge on his shoulder that returned Sander back to the group in front of him. All three members of his group—or, rather, the three of them that had shown up to class—were staring at him. Amir had been the one to speak up—his black curly hair as uncontrollable as ever—and he had a concerned look in his brown eyes. 

“Sorry, I spaced out for a bit,” Sander said, straightening up in his chair. “What were you guys talking about?

Even though Sander hated days in classes where they were given nothing to do, he was thankful that Monday morning Art History was a class dedicated to their project and it’s frightening and looming due date. 

The entirety of Sander’s weekend had been unanimously filled by Zoënne and a Marvel movie marathon that spanned every waking hour. Sitting on the couch with Senne’s legs across his lap as he leaned against Zoë, the three of them had lived on a diet of cheap take-out food and whatever wine that Senne had picked up that was one of Zoë’s favorites. They had spent their weekend inside, rooted on the couch in their sweats and day-old t-shirts. In the late hours of Saturday, Max had joined them with the remains of a Friday night hangover to spread out across the empty loveseat.

As rewarding and relaxing as the weekend had been, Sander had not gotten any time to finish the final part of the project—too consumed with an inability to leave the couch. On Saturday evening, after Max had taken his girlfriend home and Senne carried the sleeping Zoë to his bedroom, Sander glanced over the changes that Celeste had made before submitting the group’s rough draft. He had the rest of the week to complete the rest of his part and that was more than enough time to complete it. Once he stored his laptop away, Sander laid down, the pillow still lingering with Robbe’s faint scent days later, and fell asleep.

And, then, rushed out the door to get to class when his alarm clock did not go off. 

Once he arrived in the classroom, Sander realized that they were missing a group member. Unsurprisingly, it was Liam—to Sander’s frustration and, in all honesty, _relief_ —who had mysteriously decided not to show up for a class on a week that had been entirely dedicated to finishing and editing their project. And, not only did Liam not show up, but he _still_ had not sent his part of the project to any of them. In fact, if you had completely disregarded Liam’s part, their group was almost complete. While Amir and Anna had both completed their parts, Sander and Celeste only had the last part of theirs to finish. 

All that was left was to finish their parts, do some editing to make it feel seamless, and… get Liam’s entire part. At one point during their class, Professor Janssen had swung by their group after realizing that Liam was absent. Likely because of their conversation on Friday, he had Celeste show him their collective Google Doc—making sure to look at the individual changes—and asked them to keep him updated on Liam’s lack of work. 

Since Sander had arrived, Celeste had glanced over at him questionably. Even now, as the rest of their group had resumed their conversation and Sander’s gaze landed on his notebook, he could feel her concerned stare drilling against the side of his head. But, still, he refused to meet her gaze. Even though the two of them had only been friends for a short time, she somehow managed to know him as well as Senne and Zoë. 

As the professor announced that they could pack up and that class was officially over, Sander could feel Celeste leaning towards him. Even as he packed up his things, he knew that she was likely going to ask if everything was okay or if he wanted to get a coffee like they always did after Art History. There was a part of Sander that wanted to say no, knowing that she would ask about his mood and knowing that he would be the one to tell her about Robbe. But, coffee after Art History was their weekly tradition and venting period…

However, Celeste was cut off by Professor Janssen, who asked, “Sander, can I speak to you for a moment after class?” 

And, that was how Sander found himself standing opposite his professor at the front of the lecture hall. Each of his classmates had filed out of the room, one-by-one. Some of the students lingered, taking their time with packing up their belongings. They threw questioning and occasionally flirtatious glances in Sander’s direction before being ushered out. A handful of the students giggled, wondering aloud if Sander had gotten into trouble—or was about to be. 

Once all of the students had finally cleared out, leaving the two of them alone, Professor Janssen turned toward him and asked, “How are you feeling, Sander?” 

Fiddling with the strap of his dark green messenger bag, Sander said, “I’m better today than I was on Friday, but I’m okay.” 

The professor nodded before saying, “That’s good.” There was a moment’s pause—a heavy silence hanging in the air around them as Sander shifted from one foot to the other—before he added, “I know that I told Celeste on Friday. But, should you need extra time for your part of the project, I do not mind giving you an extension. You’re a hard worker and I know that you’ll get it done.”

“I know, sir,” Sander said. “Thank you, but I don’t think I’ll be needing it. I feel better and I don’t have a lot more left of my part. But, I’ll make sure to keep it in mind.” Professor Janssen nodded, a relieved look on his face, as Sander shifted towards the door. “See you on Wednesday morning, sir.” 

“See you then, Sander.”

When Sander stepped out of the lecture hall, he was unsurprised to find that Celeste was standing outside the lecture hall. Alone. Despite the fact that the remainder of his group had all left at the same time, she was the only member that remained. Sander hardly knew Anna, who was quiet and reserved, and Amir had a class across campus fifteen minutes after Art History. Celeste was leaning up against the brick wall, her arms wrapped tightly around her binger. 

Once Sander stepped into the hallway, Celeste looked up, her eyes finding him instantly, as she pushed herself off the wall. “What did Professor Janssen need?” 

Sander shoved his hands deep into his pockets, moving closer to Celeste. “He just wanted to know how I was feeling,” he said. As Sander moved towards the front door of the building, Celeste followed closely behind and he added, “He also wanted to tell me that if I needed any more time for my project, that he wouldn’t mind giving me extra time. But, I told him that I didn’t think I would need it.” 

“Understandable,” Celeste said. Sander pushed open the front door and Celeste stepped through the archway quickly. As they took the stairs down from the building, she continued, “Between me and you, you have more work done for your part than I do. I don’t think you’ll need that much time to finish it all out if you’re able to sit down and do it. Plus, you have it all outlined anyway.” 

“Yeah,” Sander said. “All I need to do now is sit down and write it.” 

“Sometimes, that’s the hardest part.” 

For a moment, their conversation stuttered down to a halt. 

Even as they walked in the general direction of campus, it felt like their bubble had been popped, leaving them exposed. Normally, the two of them were quick to fall into a conversation—about classes, a television show they both watched, or their shared annoyance of Liam de Smet—but today was different. The two of them were achingly quiet as they walked, the conversations of students around them passively registering in their brains, and Sander felt overwhelmingly anxious with each passing step. It was like he was waiting for a pen to drop, for _that_ question to be asked, the one he had been avoiding since he stepped into the classroom. 

After several thundering heartbeats, his friend turned to him and asked, practically whispering, “Do you want to talk about what’s wrong, Sander?” 

Swallowing, Sander thought about lying. He thought about brushing off that nothing was wrong, that he was simply stressed about Liam’s lack of work or maybe a test in another class. However, one glance in Celeste’s direction told him that she wouldn’t buy that. Letting out a sigh, Sander managed, “Not particularly.” 

“Well, if you don’t want to,” she started. “We don’t have to talk about it. I can just tell that something has been eating away at you all hour and I just wanted to ask—”

Cutting her off mid-sentence, Sander said, “Robbe and I aren’t seeing each other anymore.” Celeste blinked at him in disbelief, seemingly frozen at his side—aside from the fact that she was still walking beside him. “I was planning on coming to the library, but Robbe came over before I left on Thursday and he was upset because of some family stuff. We…” Sander trailed off. 

“I don’t need all the details, you know,” Celeste said. “We’re not high school teenagers giggling over the intricacies of sex.” 

Even though his first instinct was to laugh—or giggle—no noise came out and he simply stared at her before he continued, “When I woke up, he was gone.” Celeste simply stared at him, clutching at her binder. “All his things were gone and there was no note—which he normally leaves. When I tried to call him, he wouldn’t answer and so I left a voicemail and texted him. He just texted me that he couldn’t do our… _arrangement_ anymore. That it wasn’t me, it was him.” 

Celeste’s mouth fell open. 

However, before she could speak, Sander finished, “I asked him why… but I got left on read and now he isn’t talking to me.” 

There was another long beat of silence between them—then two… then three—before Celeste was speaking up again, sounding almost confused, “That doesn’t make any sense.” 

Sander blinked, turning toward her. Celeste was staring ahead, a focused look on her features, as she clutched the binder in her arms. “What doesn’t make sense?” he asked. 

“All of it,” Celeste said, matter-of-factly. 

Letting out a sigh, Sander said, “I wish I could offer more insight but it’s what happened.”

“That’s not what I’m saying, Sander,” she said, turning to look at him. Sander let out a sigh, running a free hand through the tangled strands of his hair. “What I’m saying is I don’t understand why he so abruptly pulled away. I saw the way that he looked at you at that party _and_ in the café, Sander—just like I saw the way that you looked at him.” 

Despite Robbe’s sudden and abrupt distance, despite the unanswered text on his phone, despite the reality of the situation, Sander could feel the small ember ignite in his chest. It wasn’t quite the wildfire that Robbe could manage to erupt—the healing flame that could rekindle his heart—but it was a spark that made him feel warmth and joy and _hope_. Still, he could feel his mind stomping out the fires, trying to remind him of Robbe’s words.

_I just don’t think I can do this anymore._

His brain hissed, stomping out the small ember with fury, _he doesn’t want you_. 

“Plus, you should’ve seen the way he looked at me,” Celeste added. “If I could’ve evaporated or been hit upside the head in that moment, I might’ve thought that he _willed_ it into the universe—”

“Celeste,” Sander said, cutting her off again. Even though it was the second time that he had cut her off, she didn’t seem too upset about it. Maybe, she could sense the anxiety pouring off of him in waves—the way his heart was yearning for Robbe and his brain was trying to smother it simultaneously. “I’m sorry… but can we talk about something else instead?” 

Sander was not entirely sure why he expected Celeste to get angry at the sudden change of topic—maybe it was his anxiety riding high—but he could feel the relief flood his body when she nodded. She had been cut off mid-sentence but she switched topics easily. Celeste grabbed at his arm before dragging him off their typical path toward the library. 

“I don’t know about you,” Celeste said, matter-of-factly. “But, I’ve been really wanting to go to the Student Union for a change. Plus, from what I’ve heard, they’ve got some pretty decent coffee in the shop on the first floor. Plus, we can find a quiet space on the second floor to get some progress done on the last bits of our project so we only have to worry about Liam’s lack of effort.” She turned to him. “How does that sound?” 

Letting out a breath of relief, feeling his anxiety simmer down a little, Sander nodded his head, following Celeste. “That sounds great,” he admitted. 

“Good,” Celeste said, beaming. “Because, I think it’s my turn to buy coffee.” 

* * *

When the week had finally ended, dragging on longer than Sander hoped it would, he found himself stepping into a two-story house—owned by a friend of a friend of Senne’s—trailing right behind his best friend and Max Van Damme, one of Senne’s high school friends. By nothing short of a miracle, his project in Art History was over—with Liam sending his part mere _hours_ before the deadline—and the week had _finally_ ended. When Max had suggested that they celebrate with a night out and Senne’s mention of a party, Sander found himself going with them to the car. It had been a while since they all hung out together, just the three of them. 

Now, here they were. 

Despite the fact that the temperatures were getting colder, the party was so massive that there were some party-goers spilling into the lawn. After stepping past the front door, the three of them could see that the living room was filled to maximum capacity with dancing couples and singles. Obnoxiously loud pop music was blasting through the speakers nearly piercing Sander’s eardrums. Despite that, he could barely hear Senne and Max’s shouts—let alone make out what they were saying—before there was a gentle tug on his arm. It was Max and he nodded toward Senne, who was moving further into the house. 

As he walked, Sander glanced around the party, feeling a heavy weight on his chest. 

This party was the exact same party as the one from last week—the one where Robbe had dragged him home—and the one the week before and before that, but this one felt different. In reality, Sander knew that it made no sense, but it _did_. This party was different. Sander was still fighting through the same crowd of dancing party goers. Sander was still listening to the same, obnoxious pop music. Sander was still trailing behind his friends in search of the same old beers and drinks. Hell, they had been in this same two-story house for numerous other parties before now.

It all felt the same.

It all _looked_ the same.

But, no matter how much Sander said it, it _wasn’t_ the same. 

Or, at least, it didn’t feel the same because Sander was in a state of post-Robbe.

At the end of the night, Sander wouldn’t be able to seek Robbe out. He wouldn’t be able to kiss him breathless in the shadows of the party. Sander’s phone would not buzz with flirty text messages from Robbe, making his intentions to go home with him known. Each and every one of those were now all things of the past. Whatever routine they had before had been shattered in pieces and scattered like ashes in the wind. It left Sander in a state of constant confusion and disarray—unable to figure out how tonight would end if he did not have Robbe to steal him away or take him home. 

At long last, after pushing through bodies, the three of them had managed to shove their way into the kitchen and stepped inside. To Sander’s immense surprise, the kitchen was completely empty. In fact, the only other people that remained was a small group of girls that were headed out as they stepped inside. One of the girls looked over at Max longingly and Sander shared a knowing glance with Senne. In the middle of the island, there were multiple stacks of cups and assortment of alcohol. 

While Senne moved to make a drink, bumping elbows with Max as they fought over the half-empty bottle of vodka, Sander pushed himself up on the counter to watch him. 

In all honesty, Sander did not know what he was doing here. 

When Sander was in the right mood, he loved to go to parties—especially with his best friends. He loved to hear the music coursing through his body. He loved to talk with his friends over bottles of beers or uniquely made alcoholic concoctions. He loved to be together, in a bubble of warmth and friendship, and he loved it every single time. But, tonight, even though he wanted to be there, Sander wasn’t feeling the party at the same time. It wasn’t hard to see that every person at the party was having a good time and Sander seemed to be the only person who did not want to be there, his chest hollow and his eyes glazed over. 

The party tonight was riding up toward a newfound high and, unless some grumpy neighbor decided to spoil all the fun, the party would only continue to go higher and higher from here. Everyone was having a good time, dancing to the music or talking with their friends. Even Max and Senne were laughing at the kitchen island, fighting and shoving one another, as they talked. They didn’t need someone like Sander, who was partially trapped in his own thoughts, his heart weighing down on him heavily, to bring them down with him.

There was a gentle nudge against his leg, bringing Sander back into the reality around him. His friends had a concerned look on their faces as they stared over at him. Senne pushed himself up onto an empty space on the kitchen island and Max leaned against the kitchen counter beside Sander. Without saying a word, Max handed over a blue solo cup which seemed to be filled with his famous drink. Smiling at Max, he mumbled out a "Thanks."

“You okay?” Senne asked. 

Sander nodded, “Yeah.” The lie slipped off his tongue too easily, too casually—one of his old reflexes that he had not been able to grow out of quite yet, even with Senne. _Especially_ with Senne. When Senne gave him a pointed look and raised an eyebrow at him, Sander added, “As good as I can be right now.” 

Senne nodded. “That’s okay, you know?” he said. Max mirrored his action, reaching over to clasp Sander on the shoulder. Sander let out a sigh, looking down at the drink in his hand. “Tonight’s all about hanging out, you know, just the three of us.”

“Yeah,” Max said. “And it’s going to be a blast. It’s been a while since we’ve been able to do this.” 

“It really has—”

“Are you sure you want me here?” Sander asked, cutting them off. Without looking up from his drink, he could feel the eyes of his friends on him. Swirling around the drink in his hand, he added, “I’m not really the best person to be around right now so I would understand if—”

“Yes,” Senne said. Sander raised his eyes from the cup in his hand—his green eyes connecting with Senne’s brown ones. “I want you to be here. I always want you to be here.” 

When Sander glanced over at Max, his response was instantaneous. “Of course, I want you here, Sander. You and I might not be as close as you and Senne—but you’re still my friend and you’re still awesome.” Max wrapped one arm around Sander, tugging him close. “Plus, we always have a good and fun time when you’re around, you know?” 

“Yeah?”

“Yes,” Senne said. Quickly, a smile bloomed across his face, brightening up his eyes. “Besides, you are just like Zoë. You know how to talk us out of a stupid idea. However, you also manage to talk us into a less stupid idea that’s still fun.” Together, Max and Senne roared into laughter and, without fully realizing it, Sander was smiling as well. 

“I thought I saw you come in here.” 

The three of them glanced up to find Celeste stepping into the kitchen. Her purple hair was partially curled and partially pinned back. She was wearing a black sweater that was paired with a pair of plain denim jeans and a pair of purple converse. Celeste was wearing more makeup than she normally did with black winged eyeliner, gray eyeshadow, and dark maroon lipstick. Smiling over at them, Celeste stepped around the kitchen island and beamed, “Fancy seeing you here on a Friday night, project partner.” 

“Hey,” Sander said. “Max, this is Celeste. We have Art History together. Celeste, Max.” The two of them shook hands, grinning at each other shyly, and Sander grinned towards Senne, their eyes locking. “And, you already know Senne.”

“Yes,” Celeste said, leaning up against the counter. “Where is your other partner in crime tonight?” 

Sander smiled and so did Senne, getting that wistful look on his face at the mention of Zoë. “She has a Girl’s Night In with her friends,” Senne said. Celeste nodded, smiling as she raised her glass to take a sip of her drink. “Once a month, they get together to watch movies and drink wine and do their nails so she didn’t come with us tonight.” 

“That’s awesome actually,” Celeste said. 

“Yeah, she has a lot of fun with it.” 

“So,” Celeste said, turning towards Sander. “Are you drinking tonight to recover from our art history project _finally_ being completed as well as Liam and the amount of anxiety that he’s caused us all this week? Because I sure as hell am.” 

An unexpected laugh bubbled up in Sander’s throat as he nodded fervently. “Of course,” Sander said, raising his glass. Celeste mirrored his action before taking a drink. “With the amount of somewhat panicked emails that we sent him and Professor Janssen, I would be more surprised if we _didn’t_.” 

Celeste laughed, tossing her head back. 

As Max practically fell off the counter to question who Liam was, a flirtatious look plastered on his face, someone else stepped into the kitchen. Sander did not turn to see who it was. It was likely one of Celeste’s friends, who had come to see why she was taking so long. Instead, he and Senne exchanged a very knowing look as Celeste informed Max of the stressful events of their project. Sander raised his glass to his mouth, eager and ready to tease Max on his budding (and potentially reciprocated) crush. 

But, as he did, Sander caught sight of who had stepped into the kitchen, dressed in an oversized green sweatshirt and a pair of jeans. 

Robbe.

From the second that their eyes had met again, Sander’s green and Robbe’s brown, Sander could feel the shiver and the rush that shot through his entire body—and, he could see the panic and confusion that instantly rose to his expressive eyes. Robbe was hardly two steps into the kitchen, barely through the threshold, but he was frozen in place, unmoving. For two heartbeats, the two of them simply stared at each other… then, Robbe abruptly turned around and walked out of the room. 

As soon as he was out of sight, Sander felt his heart fall. 

_So,_ Sander thought, _this was it_. Their new normal. Stepping into rooms and pretending like they were never close, to begin with—like they were never together in any capacity. Occupying the same spaces in parties by happenstance, not making plans to go home together. No longer texting each other in the midst of stress periods to meet up… or simply just because. Their new normal…

Letting out a small sigh, Sander shifted on the counter. 

Deep down, Sander always knew that it would come. One day, they were going to stop being friends with benefits and they would have to shift back into what they were before… _nothing_. It had been an inevitable part of their story, one that Sander had seen coming since the beginning, but it did not make it any less hard to bear now that it was here, today, in the present. Sander had always imagined that it would be Robbe wanting to date someone else—or date in general—or that Sander would slip up, let out his true feelings, and Robbe would leave. 

But, Sander didn’t imagine it being like this: cold, distant, as though everything that they had been had all been erased in a snap. 

And, on top of it all… Sander didn’t even know _why_ —why Robbe had left in the middle of the night, why Robbe had decided to end it without a proper explanation. 

Somehow, the mere thought of it didn’t seem right to him. His stomach twisted and turned, wrung out and thrown across the room. Now, more than ever, Sander wanted to _know_ what had happened. He wanted to know why Robbe broke off their arrangement without an explanation. Deep down, buried in his heart, he knew that there was something wrong… and he wanted to make sure that Robbe was okay with ending their arrangement truly. 

If Robbe could say it to his face… Sander would know for sure. 

Swallowing down the remainder of his drink, Sander slid off the kitchen counter. Without missing a beat, Senne glanced up at him in confusion. He tore his eyes away from Max and Celeste, who were deep in conversation about something that Sander had missed. “I’m going to the bathroom,” he said. Senne nodded and Sander disappeared out the kitchen door. 

Despite there being a party’s amount of people, Sander somehow _always_ managed to find Robbe. From his current spot outside the kitchen, Sander could only see his back, but he knew that it was him. Tonight, he was standing with Jens and Moyo, who were both turned to him, and they were all deep in a conversation. Robbe motioned towards the nearby stairs before disappearing toward the second floor. 

Once Robbe had disappeared, Sander crossed the hallway in pursuit of the stairs, briefly passing Jens and Moyo in his flight. For a split second, as he passed them, there was a moment where Sander caught Jens staring at him. The two of them simply stared at one another and Sander thought that Jens was going to try and stop him from following Robbe. However, Jens broke eye contact and nodded to Moyo, pulling him away and disappearing together into the crowd with one final glance over his shoulder. 

Once Sander reached the stairs, he took two at a time until he reached the top, stepping onto the second floor. As he did, he caught sight of a door closing down the hall—the second door on the right. But, once he was standing right outside of it, Sander found himself hesitating. All at once, his thoughts hit him upside the head all over again. Does Robbe even want to talk to him? 

Swallowing, Sander raised his fist and knocked hard on the door. 

On the other side, Sander could barely make out the sound of the water running and a sigh. He could hear the water shutting off and it was a few more frantic heartbeats before Robbe was speaking, “Give me a minute and it will be all yours.” Sander took a deep breath. Separated by the door, Robbe’s voice sounded so broken, on the verge of tears, and it was all that Sander could do to not cry himself. 

When Sander heard the lock click, the door opening slightly, he found himself face-to-face—and, now, closer—with Robbe. 

Even though Sander had been the one to follow him upstairs, he was suddenly at a loss for words now that they were face-to-face once again. Robbe seemed struck as well, his hand still hovering on the door, as he stared up at Sander with his wide doe eyes. They were so close that Sander could see that the whites of Robbe’s eyes were flush red and his cheeks were quickly growing darker. Robbe’s mouth opened a few times, looking uncertain and confused. But, neither one of them moved to step aside or separate. 

Finally, Robbe was the first one to break out of the trance. Instantly, his eyes dropped to the floor, avoiding his gaze, as he said, “I’m sorry, I was just leaving. The bathroom is all yours.” 

As Robbe moved to step around Sander, to disappear back down the flight of stairs and into the party, Sander reached out to snag his waist. Once their skin touched, so bright white and familiar and _warm_ , Robbe’s eyes darted up to his again, brown mixing with green. Even though it only lasted a second before Robbe’s eyes darted back to the floor, Sander could feel the familiar ember coming alive in his heart, filling him up with warmth and confidence from the mere touch of their skin.

Swallowing, Sander asked, practically pleading, “Can we talk… please?” 

When Robbe did not answer, Sander tugged lightly on his wrist and stepped into the bathroom. On any given day, Robbe would _easily_ overpower Sander. Despite seeming small and frail, he had a pocket of surprising strength, muscles hidden beneath oversized sweaters and jeans. There were numerous times where Robbe had Sander pinned down—sometimes in bed, sometimes wrestling, having fun. Once, he had even shoved Sander off the bed, giggling beautifully. So, when Robbe followed him willingly into the bathroom, Sander’s heart nervously bloomed in his chest—hoping, _waiting_.

But, as Sander locked the door, Robbe plucked his wrist from his grasp and moved towards the bathroom sink. He watched as Robbe leaned against the counter, nervously rubbing his palms against the worn fabric of his jeans. Even though they were no longer in arm’s reach, Robbe still refused to meet Sander’s gaze, keeping it pointed at the floor. 

Wrapping his arms tightly around himself, Robbe asked, “What did you want to talk about?” 

Letting out a shaky breath, Sander managed a quiet, “Robbe.” Even with the pounding music below him, Sander’s voice—saying Robbe’s name—echoed across the bathroom tile. Sander hoped that Robbe would raise his eyes, meet them once again, but Robbe kept them trained on the floor, refusing to look up at him at all. There were three heavy beats of ringing silence between them before Sander repeated, “Robbe?” 

Swallowing, Robbe echoed, “What did you want to talk about Sander?” As he spoke, he lifted his head to look at him, their eyes connecting for a split second. Sander could see Robbe’s brown eyes soften, growing wide as his head tilted to the side, before his head dropped, his eyes falling to the floor. “If you don’t want to talk, I need to get back to Jens and Moyo before they worry about me—“

“What happened, Robbe?” Sander asked. 

“What do you mean?” Robbe asked, shifting from one foot to the other. 

“With us, Robbe,” Sander said, letting out a breath. Robbe swallowed nervously and crossed his arms tighter around his body, gripping onto his shoulders with a vice grip. “You… you just disappeared. You—“ Sander let out a sigh. “You left while I was asleep and then said that you wanted to stop. Did something happen while I was asleep?” 

Robbe’s head dropped further, avoiding his gaze. 

“Was it something I did?”

As soon as the words left his mouth, Robbe’s head swiveled up from the floor. Instantly, their eyes connected and held together for several long heartbeats. However, this time, Robbe did not look away from Sander—or rip his gaze away. Instead, he simply stared at him in disbelief. After a few seconds of pause, Robbe said, “No. You didn’t do anything wrong, Sander.” 

Letting out a sigh, not sure if that soothed his heart or hurt it more, Sander said, “Then, what happened, Robbe? One minute, I’m fully asleep with you beside me.” Robbe’s brown eyes softened as Sander continued. “But, when I woke up, you were gone… and I don’t know what changed your mind about us.” 

For a minute, Robbe was quiet, his gaze dropping to the floor, before he was speaking. “You deserve to be with someone better than me.” 

The words slipped off Robbe’s lips, echoing off the walls of the bathroom. Sander felt himself freeze, staring blankly at Robbe, as he blinked at him in confusion. No, Sander thought, you are the one who deserves better than me. Robbe stared up at him, a soft, sad look in his eyes, as Sander whispered out a confused, “What?” 

Biting down on his lip, Robbe said, “You didn’t sign up for this.” 

Now, Sander was really confused. “Sign up for what, Robbe?” 

“It’s complicated, Sander.” 

“Robbe,” Sander said. “Our arrangement and our friendship are already complicated as it is…” Robbe lowered his gaze, wringing his hands together. Letting out a sigh, Sander continued, “We say that we’re friends and we have a good time together, but we kiss and we have sex because we want to feel good and we do… with each other. What can be more complicated than that?” Robbe let out a small breath. “But, we do have a good time together… right?”

Robbe straightened up against the bathroom counter. He ran a nervous hand through his curls before he turned toward Sander, who stuck his hands in his pockets. “Well, what if I want something more?” 

Sander blinked over at him. “What do you mean?” 

“What if I want more, Sander?” Robbe said, pushing himself off the counter. “What if I want more than sneaking outside of parties without our friends noticing? What if I want more than what we are now? What if I want to go out on dates and not have to hide the fact that…” He trailed off, running his hand over his face. Robbe trailed off unexpectedly before reaching up to run his hands over his face. “What if I want that, Sander?” 

Sander swallowed, feeling his heart breaking in his chest. He had known that this day would come, but it was hard to hear it coming from Robbe’s mouth. It drove a knife through his heart… the thought that Sander would never be able to have that with Robbe: a true relationship. A true relationship where they could hold hands in public or curl up together on the couch without having a thought about it being too much for their arrangement. 

Looking back at Robbe, who was watching him, Sander said, “If you want to have a relationship, Robbe, you deserve to have it and you deserve to get it.” As Sander stared at Robbe, half-leaning against the counter, he tried to commit him down to memory, etching in every detail so he could recall this moment years from now—remember the way that Robbe looked, remember the way that Sander felt when he looked at him. “You deserve to have what it is that you want, Robbe… in whatever way you want it.” 

Robbe stared at him with those wide doe eyes, so open and beautiful as they looked deep into his own. Obviously nervous, Robbe took a step away from the counter. He unraveled his arms from around him and rubbed the palms of his hands against his jeans. Once Robbe stopped, several steps away from him, right out of arm’s length, Sander couldn’t help the urge to step closer and hold Robbe tight against his chest. But, he buried the need deep in his chest and held it there. 

Raising his chin, almost like he was daring, Robbe said, “And, what if I can’t have a relationship like that?” There was a loud, heavy beat in the distance between them before Robbe exhaled a shaky breath before he continued, “What if the person that I want to be with doesn’t want me like that?” 

“That’s impossible,” Sander breathed out. “Who wouldn’t want to be with you?” 

For a split second, Robbe’s eyes flickered over his face—as if he was trying to find some inner lie to the truth, trying to find the tell to make it all crumble. However, soon after, Robbe laughed unexpectedly, covering his own mouth, as he turned away from Sander. Robbe stepped back to the bathroom counter and leaned over it, gripping so tightly to the sides that his knuckles had turned white. 

“But, that’s the thing, Sander,” Robbe said. He sounded almost sad, like the mere motion broke his heart entirely, and Sander could feel his crumble further in his chest. “That’s exactly what’s happening.” Before Sander could question, Robbe muttered, refusing to look over at him, “Because, you don’t love me the way I love you—as more than just friends.”

What?

While his heart had leaped in his ribcage, beating madly for the words he had desperately wanted to hear for months, Sander’s brain took longer to process. It was like his brain had been forced into a restart, leaving Sander standing in confusion for a solid few seconds. But, once the words settled in Sander’s mind, the realization hit him. Robbe loved him too. Instantly, the wildfire—the one that had become synonymous with Robbe—roared to life in his heart, making him feel all warm and fuzzy, as every part of his soul—of his being— _screamed_ “I love you too.”

_I love you too._

_I’ve always loved you too._

Sander had not been fully aware that he had taken a step toward him until Robbe spoke again, his eyes not looking at him. “At first, I thought that I was just imagining it… and then, when I realized that I had feelings for you, I didn’t want to complicate what we had so I kept pretending that I didn’t have those feelings because you didn’t ask for me to have feelings for you—”

“Robbe,” Sander said. 

However, Robbe kept talking, seemingly unaware that he had even said anything. “Because, outside of being with you and having sex, you were fun to be around. You made me feel happy… you made me feel calm and relaxed and I liked being around you—being _with_ you. But, then, when I came over, I realized that I couldn’t go on pretending that I didn’t have feelings for you—”

“Robbe,” Sander interrupted. “Look at me.” 

For a minute, Robbe remained frozen. His eyes were focused down and his hands were gripping tightly at the counter, his knuckles turning white. Even as Sander took several steps closer to him, Robbe did not look over at him. Sander reached out, putting his hand over one of the hands gripping at the bathroom sink, and Robbe let out a breath, turning to him slightly. Slowly, Robbe faced him, biting down hard on his bottom lip. Robbe hesitantly looked up at Sander, but once their eyes met, his eyes immediately jumped down to the floor. 

“Robbe, look at me.” Sander pleaded. 

“Sander,” Robbe gasped, shaking his head. “I—” 

Taking a final step forward, Sander reached up to take Robbe’s face in his hands, his palms resting against the curve of his jawline. To his relief, Robbe did not step out of his hands or shove them away. In fact, his eyes fluttered closed and he tilted into Sander’s touch like he always had, pressing his cheek further against the curve of Sander’s palm. Letting out a breath, of relief, of belonging, Sander traced the freckles on his cheeks and pressed his thumb against his dimples as Robbe’s lips twitched into a small involuntary smile. 

“Robbe.” Even though he said Robbe’s name so quietly, somehow it seemed to ricochet against the tile in the bathroom, booming even in comparison to the music downstairs. “Look at me.” Robbe tilted further into Sander’s palm, pressing his nose against the curve of his wrist, and let out a sigh. “Please.” 

Letting out a small breath, Robbe opened his eyes—his beautiful brown, doe eyes that Sander had fallen in with on the night that they had met. From the second that their eyes met, Sander could feel the breath temporarily knock out of him. Robbe had so much love and adoration in his eyes—and it was all directed at Sander. He loved him too, _truly_. It wasn’t just a dream or fantasy; it was reality—showcased right there in his eyes. How had Sander not seen it before? 

“I’ve always wanted you like that, Robbe,” Sander said, feeling his nerves fluttering in his stomach. 

Robbe stared up at him, his eyes widening slightly as they searched his own. Sander hoped that Robbe would be able to see the truth in his eyes, hear it in his voice, feel it in his heart. Robbe’s mouth dropped open slightly and Sander expected him to speak, to question, but no words came out. Instead, he closed his mouth and stared up at Sander, swallowing. 

“The first time I saw you wasn’t at the party where we met… it was at the club.” Robbe stared up at him, silent, waiting. “I was up on stage and I looked into the crowd and, right as I did, the light hit a group of people and all I could see was you—dancing with one of the girls to Rebel, Rebel.” 

Robbe sucked in a breath, reaching up with one hand to grip Sander’s wrist. But, he didn’t push Sander’s hand off his face. Instead, he stroked the inside of Sander’s wrist with his thumb. 

“I knew that I wanted to meet you… to _be_ with you. So I hoped that one day I would be able to meet you face-to-face and sweep you off your feet—and then, one night I went to a party, and there you were, laughing with your friends. Somehow, I managed to introduce myself in the kitchen—”

“That’s not how I remember it,” Robbe whispered. For a second, Sander stared at him, confused, but then the corners of Robbe’s mouth twitched up and he said, “From what I remember, you asked me where the beer was and why I hadn’t brought anymore. Had me so panicked and confused that I didn’t even know what the fuck you were talking about.” Robbe smiled up at him, his freckled cheeks dusted pink. “You can continue, Sander…” A moment’s pause. “ _Please_.” 

Nodding, Sander continued, “As soon as I met you—however, stupid I was—it was over for me, Robbe. I was done. Even from that short time, I would’ve followed you anywhere and I was glad that I had your attention—and that you seemed to feel the same.” Robbe let out a breath, running a soothing thumb down the vein of Sander’s wrist. “When we went home to my place and I woke up to an empty bed, I thought that was it and I was upset because I really liked you. But, then I thought, at least I had you for a little bit and that was okay with me.” 

For a second, Robbe was quiet, then he spoke up, “Was it?”

“Yeah,” Sander said, nodding. “At the time, it was. But, then, I ran into you at the coffee shop and you said that you weren’t looking for anything serious. I had told you that I wasn’t looking for anything serious either.”

“Yeah,” Robbe said. “I remember.” 

“And I meant it, you know?” Sander said. “I meant what I said because I was fine with keeping things between us as casual as you wanted because it meant that I would be able to be with you.” Robbe’s mouth dropped open again, but he closed it quickly, staring up at Sander with those wide brown eyes. “I’m sorry if that’s creepy or weird—but, what I’m trying to say is that I’ve always wanted you like that, Robbe. I wanted to be with you and I wanted to stay with you in whatever way that you wanted us to be.” 

Robbe did not speak up.

So, Sander let out a breath, before saying, confessing, declaring, “I love you so much, Robbe, and that has not changed in the past four months. If anything, it has only grown because I’ve learned about you and who you are with your fascination for Romeo and Juliet and camera work and love of electronic music and infinite universes—and I’ve fallen more in love with you.” 

For a minute, Robbe was quiet and he didn’t say anything. His brown eyes were staring at Sander with so much love that it was a miracle that Sander was still standing upright. All Sander could do was to stare back into his eyes, watching, waiting—for a word or a shove or a slap—and hope that Robbe would still want to talk with him. That Robbe might even want to be with him—as more than simply friends that slept with each other occasionally. 

Then, so quickly that Sander hardly noticed it at all, Robbe’s eyes dropped down to Sander’s lips. It was a brief movement before Robbe’s eyes darted back to Sander’s—to see if he had seen the movement. Sander’s lips felt dry and he barely resisted the urge to leap forward, to press their lips together. Robbe smiled at him before his eyes dropped back down to Sander’s lips, staying there longer. 

Robbe reached up, his free hand threading through Sander’s hair at the base of his neck, before he leaned forward, shifting closer. Sander eagerly waited, his eyes fluttering closed before he could feel Robbe’s lips press against his own. 

As soon as he felt Robbe’s lips press against his own, gentle and slow, one of Sander’s hands dropped to his waist, holding him closer against his side. It had been too long since they last kissed, their lips moving languidly as they traced the familiar path of their mouths. Sander savored the feeling of Robbe’s lips against his own, unsure if it would be the last time, terrified that it might be—that Robbe would slip away, walk out the door and never come back. 

When they separated, letting out a breath against each other’s lips, Robbe whispered, “I love you too.” 

Sander let out a breath of relief—maybe half of a sob—and Robbe pressed another kiss to his lips, soothing, reassuring. Robbe’s arms wound around his neck, his hand still in the bleach blond strands of Sander’s hair, and he stepped closer, pressing their bodies flush against each other. Sander ran a hand through Robbe’s curls and kissed him with all that he had—all he was unafraid to show until now. Robbe stumbled against his body, fisting at his leather jacket. They lost themselves in this gentle, soothing, _reviving_ kiss, pulling each other closer, holding each other tighter. 

A knock at the door broke them apart. 

Sander turned towards the bathroom door as he said, loudly and disgruntled, “Just a minute!” Robbe giggled lightly, a similar breath of frustration brushing across Sander’s cheek. Robbe tilted his head to press a kiss against his jawline as Sander turned back to him, holding him closer. 

“Sander?” Robbe asked.

“Yeah?” 

Robbe stared up at him with pleading brown eyes. “Take me home.” 

* * *

Aside from the driver and one other person, the bus was practically empty when they got on. 

Once the two of them had sat down at the very rear of the bus, the vehicle began to move beneath their feet down its coordinated path around the city. There was no music to fill the silent void—simply the audiobook the driver was playing—and the loud rock music coming from the earbuds of the other customer. The dim interior lights and whirling heater added to the musicless void of annoyance.

But, Sander could not be annoyed with the most beautiful man in the world at his side. 

When they had sat down, Robbe had insisted on taking the window seat. Once Sander had taken his seat beside him, Robbe wasted no time in stealing several kisses. Sander couldn’t help grinning, kissing Robbe back gently. He never thought that it would happen like this—that they could be together like _this_. Once Robbe filled his kiss-quota, Robbe draped his legs over Sander’s so they could be closer and took his hand, intertwining their fingers. 

Throughout the ride, Sander had played with Robbe’s hand. Sander had pressed gentle kisses against his knuckles, fanned out his fingers using his own, and traced the lines of his palm. Each time, Robbe would giggle, writhing in his seat, but never asked Sander to stop. Once Robbe signaled their stop and the bus began to slow, Sander laced their hands back together and led them off.

The elevator ride up to Robbe’s apartment was hardly torturous. On the way up, Sander got Robbe to giggle as many times as he could. He pressed ticklish, featherlight kisses against every inch of Robbe’s face and neck that he could reach. As Robbe writhed against him, giggling madly, Sander smiled in delight. As the elevator doors opened, Robbe broke free of his minuscule grip and raced down the hallway with Sander right on his heels. 

Once Robbe unlocked the door to the apartment, the two of them stumbled into the foyer, giggling in delight and awe—that they were here _together_ and they wanted to be _together_. Robbe smiled at Sander before he reached out to snag the lapels of his leather jacket. He tugged Sander closer, who followed him willingly, and their lips met for another kiss. 

Their lips slotted together easily, moving together slowly and deliberately. Robbe’s other arm wrapped around his neck, bracing his head, as Sander was backed up against the wall. Sander grinned into the kiss, feeling Robbe’s lips similarly turn up, before he wrapped his arms low on Robbe’s waist. Robbe breathed out a surprised sound and kissed him a little harder before pulling them closer. They could stay like this forever, Sander thought, kissing against the wall and he would be okay with it. 

Pressing one final chaste kiss against his mouth, Robbe pulled back, smiling brightly up at him. Then, his face seemed to falter, hesitant. “Hey, Sander,” Robbe whispered. 

“Hmm?” 

“Is it okay… if we don’t have sex tonight?” Robbe asked. 

Sander blinked at him confused. “Of course it’s okay, Robin,” he said. “If you don’t want to have sex, we don’t need to have sex.” Sander pressed a kiss against his nose—Robbe’s nose scrunched up cutely as he did so—before pressing their foreheads together. “I want to be with _you_ , Robin‚ and whatever you want to do, I want to do too.” Robbe smiled bashfully. “If that’s staying up watching Fortnite videos on Youtube until we fall asleep in each other’s arms, that’s what we’re going to do, babe.” 

Robbe playfully shoved his shoulder, pushing Sander further against the wall, as his cheeks flushed pink. “I would never subject you to _that_. You don’t even like Fortnite.” 

“Maybe not,” Sander said, pulling Robbe closer. He followed him willingly, collapsing against Sander’s chest, and Robbe pressed a featherlight kiss against his jawline. “But, I’m willing to give Fortnite a chance for you, _babe_ .” When Robbe’s cheeks flushed a brighter shade of pink, which Robbe tried to hide by burying his face in his neck, Sander grinned mischievously—one of those grins that meant he was up to something. “What’s wrong, _babe_?”

“ _Stop it_ ,” Robbe whined against his neck. 

“Why?” Sander teased, biting at Robbe’s ear. 

Robbe shivered, pulling away from him. To Sander’s delight, his cheeks were a darker shade of pink, exposing the constellation of freckles on his cheeks. “I just… Before… I never thought I would be able to hear you call me that,” Robbe said, quietly. Sander smiled at him, knowing the feeling. “So, it’s kind of weird to hear you say it now—like it’s so easy and natural.” 

“I never thought that I would be able to call you that at all,” Sander admitted. He tugged Robbe closer to him, smiling when their bodies pressed flush together. Robbe reached up to cup Sander’s face, tracing along his jawline before Sander asked, “Do you want me to stop calling you that?” 

Instantly, Robbe shook his head. “No,” he said, smiling at Sander, beautifully. “I like it.” He pressed a soft kiss against Sander’s mouth before grinning at him. “I like it when you call me that—” For a second, Robbe paused for dramatic effect, staring up at Sander with a knowing glint, before he continued, “— _babe_.” 

Sander laughed happily, hearing the snort come out of his nose as he felt it. Robbe giggled too, grinning from ear-to-ear, and it only succeeded in making Sander’s smile grow wider, so big that the corners of his lips were beginning to hurt. Robbe leaned forward and pressed their lips together. It was hard to kiss with their smiles so wide and open, unabashedly happy. But, they were unable and unwilling to make their smiles go down enough to kiss properly so they made due, pressing a flurry of kisses against each other’s mouth before their smile ended it too early. 

When Robbe finally pulled away, pressing a kiss against the upturned corner of Sander’s mouth, he asked, innocently, “Are you going to stay over tonight?” 

“It depends,” Sander said. For a split second, he spotted Robbe’s face fall a little—a confused stare in his brown eyes—and Sander was quick to finish his sentence. “Do you _want_ me to stay over tonight? Because I would love to sleep over.” Robbe smiled, his face lighting up, as Sander ran his hands through his curls. “In all honesty, Robin, falling asleep next to you was one of my favorite parts.” 

Robbe smiled, sheepishly. “Waking up to find you still asleep beside me was one of mine,” he admitted. His face fell again and he bit down on his lip before he added, “Sander… I’m sorry about leaving you that night…” Sander nodded, pressing a kiss against Robbe’s cheekbone before he was continuing, “I thought that… not being there would make it easier to break off our arrangement, but it just made it worse—” 

“It’s okay,” Sander said. 

“Is it?”

“It _is_ ,” he said. Sander meant it with every fiber of his being and he pressed a kiss against Robbe’s lips in hopes of helping him see. “It’s okay. I understand. But, that’s in the past, okay? I’m here now. _We_ are here now, together, and that’s all in the past, okay?” 

Robbe smiled, nervous. “Okay.” 

Sander placed another kiss against his lips before asking, “Do you want to get ready for bed?” 

“Sure,” Robbe said, giggling. It was another kiss—and a half—before they managed to untangle themselves from one another, unwinding their arms and their hands from where they had instinctively clung to one another. As Sander unlaced his boots, setting them down by the front door, Robbe appraised him for a brief moment before he began to giggle. “There’s no way you’ll fall asleep in those. I might have a pair of joggers that can fit you.” 

As Robbe disappeared into the next room, Sander called after him, “I wouldn’t be surprised—considering you buy clothes a size too big.” 

“Shut up!” 

When Sander followed the familiar path to Robbe’s bedroom, he found Robbe half-bent over the bottom drawer of his dresser. The room was messier than the last time that Sander had been over, but Robbe’s desk was the picture of pristine with his laptop connected to his filming camera. Before Sander could ask, Robbe pulled out a piece of clothing. “Found it!” he said before shoving it in Sander’s hands. 

“Thank you,” Sander said. When Robbe looked at him expectantly, Sander asked, “What?” 

As Robbe pulled out another pair of joggers, he grinned up at Sander. “Can you tell that they fit without putting them on?” Robbe asked, giggling.

“No,” Sander said, matter-of-factly. “But, I should be fine.” 

Sure enough, Sander was right. Unsurprisingly, the joggers fit Sander perfectly. The elastic in the waistband was a little snugger than Sander would’ve liked, but they were not _his_ joggers. Robbe had switched into a similar pair with a more earthy color. As Sander took off his leather jacket, folding it up where he had his skinny jeans, he glanced over to find Robbe looking at him nervously. 

“I have a question,” Robbe said, stepping closer to Sander. Robbe reached out, his fingers fisting the black fabric of the t-shirt that Sander had on. Biting down on his lip, Robbe looked up at him. “Would it be okay if I could wear your shirt to sleep tonight?” 

Even as a wildfire of warmth surged through his entire body, Sander could feel the corners of his lips turn up into yet another smile. It had been so long since Sander had smiled like this—so happy and completely free, unafraid to show his feelings. Since Robbe had said that he loved him, Sander had smiled so much that it was a wonder that his face had not broken into two. 

“I would love for you to wear my shirt,” Sander said. Robbe grinned triumphantly before he tugged on the fabric again—this time as a hint for Sander to get it off. “Though,” Sander added, pressing a finger against Robbe’s neck. “If you want to wear my shirt, it means that you’ll have to find one that fits me—unless you don’t mind me sleeping shirtless.”

Robbe laughed. “You know that I don’t mind you sleeping without a shirt,” he said. Sander giggled, shaking his head at him. Robbe grinned at him, releasing the fabric of Sander’s t-shirt before he moved in the direction of the closet. “But, I know just the shirt that will fit you perfectly.” 

As Robbe opened the closet doors to search, Sander’s phone vibrated loudly from where he had put it on the dresser. Picking it up, Sander found Senne’s name on the homescreen with three messages attached to it.

Senne _: Okay, where the hell are you?_ _  
_ _You leave to go to the bathroom and you never come back._ _  
_ _And, after I went searching for you, Max and Celeste are now gone._

Smiling over at Robbe, Sander typed out several messages, pressing send on each one without hesitation. 

Sander: _I’m sorry._ _  
_ _I’m with Robbe._ _  
_ _I told him how I feel and he feels the same way._

Senne’s response was instantaneous.

Senne: _Oh, thank God._

When Sander laughed at outloud, he heard Robbe say, “What is it?” However, before he could respond, a new message had popped up. 

Senne: _Well, since both of my best friends abandoned me, I’m going home._ _  
_ _Zoë and I are planning on making pancakes in the morning at the apartment._ _  
_ _If you want to bring Robbe over._

Sander: _I’ll ask him._

Senne: _Okay. I can’t wait to “officially” meet him._ _  
_ _I’m happy for you, Sander._

Sander smiled at his phone—partially wishing that he could hug his best friend right now.

Sander: _I know, Senne._ _  
_ _Thank you._

Senne: _But, seriously, bring Robbe to breakfast._

“What is it?” Robbe asked, chuckling. As Sander glanced up, Robbe handed him a hanger with a green sweater on it. Smiling over at him, Sander swapped the sweater for the phone in his hand. As Sander pulled his shirt off, replacing it for the green sweater, Robbe leaned against the dresser and read through the messages. When Robbe looked up, he said, “So, it looks like we’re going to breakfast in the morning?” 

“If you want to,” Sander added, handing Robbe the shirt. “I know that you _know_ who Senne is and have since he started dating Zoë, but he really wants to meet you… officially as my—” 

Robbe smiled, filling in, “Boyfriend?” 

“Yes,” Sander said, stepping forward. “My _boyfriend_.” 

Robbe grinned at him before pressing a kiss against his lips. “I would love to have breakfast with you, Senne, and Zoë in the morning. Frankly, I’d love to keep you all to myself until Monday, but I’ll make an exception for them.” Sander laughed, pressing a kiss against his temple, drawing him closer, and Robbe sunk into his embrace. Robbe tilted his head up to him before placing the phone on the dresser. “So, Max and Celeste, huh?”

“Yeah, apparently, who knew?” 

* * *

From the second that the two of them climbed beneath Robbe’s sheets, he had crawled over to Sander and clung to him like a koala. They tangled their legs together beneath the sheets and Robbe smiled at him before burying his face against Sander’s chest. With one hand reaching up to tangle in the strands of Sander’s hair, he seemed content, letting out a hum, and a flood of warmth soared through Sander’s chest. Even as the two of them laid in silence, saying everything and nothing all at once, Sander could feel how relaxed Robbe was on top of him, how he leaned further against Sander’s chest, and let out a breath of relief. 

Robbe giggled. “What is it?” 

“Nothing important,” Sander said, carding his fingers through Robbe’s curls. Robbe tilted his head back to look up at him, a sleepy look in his brown eyes. “Just still expecting it all to slip away.” 

Somehow, Robbe seemed to know what he was thinking—what was going through the deepest darkest part of his brain—because he pressed a feather-light kiss to his jaw before kissing his lips. Sander closed his eyes, feeling Robbe’s calming, loving aura seeping over him in waves. “I’m not going anywhere, Sander,” Robbe whispered against his lips. “Even if you wake up and I’m not in bed with you, I promise that I’m not far.” 

Swallowing, Sander tried to bury the thought in his head. _You were gone last time—_

“It is not like last time,” Robbe said. Sander opened his eyes to look up at Robbe, who was hovering over him and propped up on one elbow. The hand in his hair moved in a gentle calming rhythm. “I promise.” 

“Okay,” Sander breathed out. “Come here.” 

Robbe closed the distance willingly, bringing their lips together again in a calming gentle kiss, and pressed himself closer against Sander. Letting out a breath, Sander relaxed as Robbe pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth. His boyfriend, his _boyfriend_ , reached up to close Sander’s eyes before Robbe pressed a kiss against his cheek. “Get some sleep, Sander,” he said. 

“I will.” Sander could feel his brain beginning to slow down, the usually-evasive sandman luring him to sleep with his call. Robbe rested his head against Sander’s chest, his ear right above Sander’s heart, and he snuggled closer against Sander’s side. Turning slightly, just so he could press a kiss to Robbe’s head, Sander breathed out, “I love you.” 

Even as he let out a content sigh, Sander could hear the smile in Robbe’s voice as he said, “I love you too.” 

And, just like that, Sander was out.

When Sander woke up, the bed was empty. At first, he didn’t realize that there was anything wrong with that at all—his mind caught between asleep and waking up—and he nearly fell back to sleep. But, once the sleep daze had slipped from his mind, he remembered the events of the night—Robbe’s words, Robbe’s confession, Sander’s confession—and his eyes shot open to verify where he was, unable to believe it at first. 

Sure enough, Sander was in Robbe’s messy bedroom, wrapped up in his sheets, and wearing one of his sweaters. The other side of the bed was completely empty—except for a single pillow that bore the outline of Robbe’s head. Seeing the imprint calmed down Sander’s speeding heart. Robbe _had_ been there. He had not disappeared from his own bedroom. He had not left Robbe.

_Click, click, click—_

Searching out the increasingly rapid clicking sound, Sander turned to find Robbe hunched over his desk. His face was lit up by the white glow of his laptop, accenting every curve of his face. There was a look of immense concentration sketched over his features and Sander suddenly wished that he had his sketchbook—or a piece of paper—to capture the scene in front of him. 

Unlike Sander, Robbe seemed to have been awake for at least a little while. His hair was still a mess of curls, but it looks like he had run a brush through it at least once. Robbe was still wearing Sander’s shirt and the pair of joggers he had put on last night. His ears were partially covered by a pair of headphones that were likely connected to his laptop. On the edge of his desk, he had a simple white coffee mug with the “this is fine” meme printed across it. 

Smiling, Sander sat up to stare at Robbe, who was still unaware of his gaze as he continued to work on his computer. During the late nights, when Robbe would be the first one asleep, Sander could not stop himself from staring at Robbe. Even on crowded nights at the club or busy afternoons in the coffee shop, he would always find Robbe in the crowd and he watched. Sander could not help but be mesmerized by all the faces that Robbe had, the little nuances in his expressions, or by anything that he did. And, Sander presumed, that wouldn’t change. 

After several minutes—or what might’ve been an hour, Robbe tore his eyes away from his laptop, casting a glance over his shoulder at the bed. When he spotted Sander sitting on the bed, staring at him, a bright smile bloomed over his face and his cheeks flushed instantly, growing shy. “Hi,” Robbe said, pulling his headphones off his ears. His dimples popped up on the corners of his lips as he smiled over at Sander. “How long have you been awake?”

“Long enough to see how beautiful you are with that concentrated look on your face,” Sander said. Robbe giggled, shaking his head. He ran a hand through his curls and turned around in his hair. “Honestly, I wish I had my sketchbook with me,” he said, matter-of-factly. “I would’ve loved to draw you like that—all focused and your nose scrunched up.” 

“Well, you don’t need to draw me,” Robbe said, leaning on the back of the chair. “You have me.”

“I know,” Sander said. “You’re right, but I love drawing you all the same.” Robbe giggled, smiling brightly as he ran his hand over his face. Sander smiled at him. “So, what have you been working on? Is it that project in your film class that you were talking about? Is it finished yet?”

If possible, Robbe’s face turned a brighter shade of pink—nearly giving his cheeks the color of a freshly ripe tomato. His freckles contrasted lightly against the pink before they were covered up by his hand as Robbe covered his own face. “No, umm, it’s not finished,” Robbe managed to get out, his voice accelerating higher in pitch. “This is a new project actually. I started working on it last week… Well, and I haven’t been able to work on anything since.”

“Oh, you don’t have to tell me—”

Before Sander could continue, Robbe looked back at him nervously, biting down on his lower lip. “Did you want to see what I’m working on?” 

The question caught Sander off-guard, leaving him blinking and rendered speechless. Sander knew how much Robbe’s films meant to him—how much of his body and his soul that he would throw into them, editing them until absolute perfection. Throughout their many months together, Sander always tried to persuade Robbe for a sneak peek but he had never budged. When he asked, Robbe said that he didn’t like to show anything unfinished, preferring the finished product to be the first impression on a film. 

When Sander did not speak, Robbe added, rubbing his palms against the palm of his joggers, “You mentioned the last time that you were here… that you want to see it.” 

“Yes,” Sander said. “But, you’ve always said that you only like showing the finished product—when the story is over and told?” 

“Yeah,” Robbe said, standing up from his desk chair. With coordinated movements, Robbe picked up his laptop in one hand and unplugged it with his other one. In three quick strides, Robbe had crossed the room to the bed and placed the laptop on the bed in front of Sander. The screen of the laptop was completely black—in full screen so Sander could watch the film—and Robbe swallowed nervously. “But, if I say that about this one, you’ll never be able to see it.”

Sander blinked over at him. “What do you mean?” 

“Because, in this case,” Robbe said, sitting down on the bed beside him. “The story might not end.” 

For half of a heartbeat, Sander stared at Robbe, confused, green eyes fusing with brown. Slowly, Robbe’s eyes dropped to the laptop before he reached over to press the spacebar on the laptop. Instantly, the black screen was replaced with the picture of someone moving through a party—with flashing neon lights and pop music in the background. The camera was moving around so much that Sander thought he might’ve gotten motion sickness before the owner of the camera stepped into a room—presumably, the kitchen—and the person holding the camera shouted, “Robbe!”

Immediately, the camera focused across the camera—on Robbe, who was leaning against the counter with a bottle of beer in his hand. Even though what seemed to be a crappy phone camera, Robbe looked beautiful and stunning as he always did. His hair was shorter than what it was now—but he was dressed in a nice button-up shirt and a pair of jeans. There was a person standing beside him, who turned to face the camera, and Sander realized with a start what he was watching. 

It was them. 

The night that they met.

Once the video cut off, it was replaced with another black screen before a song started to play. Sander Driesen—ever the ecstatic David Bowie fan, who recognized every song and lyric—could pick out the song effortlessly. _Heroes_. Letting out a hum, Sander faced Robbe, who had scooted closer. Robbe’s head was resting on Sander’s shoulder and his arms low on his waist. After a few seconds, Robbe whispered, “It’s fixing to start again. You’re going to miss it.” 

Sander pressed a kiss to Robbe’s cheek before turning back to the camera. 

What comes next knocked the breath out of his lungs.

It was them—Robbe and Sander, together—in their months together as “friends.” There was a shot of them riding down the Sint-Annatunnel, yelling their hearts out as they biked, free of the world and their friends. The camera shook as Robbe guided his bike, making sure that they didn’t collide. There were at least half a dozen shots of Sander on stage, bathed in neon lights and focused. His outfits would change, but the concentration on his face remained the same. There was one shot of Sander asleep, his cheek squished against Robbe’s chest, as Robbe pet his hair, smiling at the camera. 

The volume of the song turned down a little as the camera changed to a shot of someone coming down the hallway to a bedroom. Sander could tell that it was his own apartment—that the person holding the camera, presumably Robbe, was heading for his room. When the door opened, there was a pile of blankets on the bed and Sander was wrapped in the middle. 

Without having to ask, Sander knew. It was during the break when his episode had hit, and Senne was away on vacation. When Sander had not responded to Robbe’s messages, he had come over to check on him, he had found Sander in the midst of a depressive episode, fighting to keep him away. Despite having no knowledge, Robbe had simply put down his stuff and climbed into bed with him. As he thought of it, the footage cut to Robbe on the bed—several days later judging by the clothes he wore—playing with Sander’s hair as slept. Just by looking at his own face, Sander could tell that it was toward the end. 

Over the lowered lyrics of _Heroes_ , someone started speaking. Robbe. “ _Over the past few days, I’ve been trying to figure out where it all started—my feelings for you, Sander._ ” The Robbe speaking sounded sad. Sander knew that it was likely Robbe last week—after he had left Sander’s apartment without a note… after he sent the text to end their arrangement. “ _I wanted to keep things casual, but somehow, my feelings for you snuck up on me. And, I still can’t tell you when they started. Maybe, they happened that first night. Maybe, somewhere along the way… but that week that I spent with you, during your episode… I didn’t know it then, but after that point, I’ve always loved you._ ” 

As soon as the voice-over ended, the footage changed again. It was more videos of them—or, rather, mostly of Sander. There was a shot of Sander laughing with Senne and Max and Zoë. There were more videos of Sander on the stage at the club, headphones on and concentrated. However, when the video of him smoking came on, staring at the camera as the tip of the cigarette flared up, Sander couldn’t resist anymore. Pivoting in Robbe’s light grip, he twisted until he could press a heated kiss against Robbe’s lips. 

Even as they kissed, tumbling back on the bed, Robbe’s video kept playing on. The sweet melody of _Heroes_ filled the air around them as Sander pressed kiss after kiss after kiss against Robbe’s lips, never growing tired of the way he sighed against him. One of Robbe’s hands dug through his hair, pulling him closer, as the other slipped beneath the sweater he wore. Sander pressed him back against the mattress, smiling into their kiss, as Robbe wrapped his legs loosely around his waist. 

As the video winded down, the melody of _Heroes_ fading to nothing, Sander whispered, “I love you so much.” 

“I love you too,” Robbe whispered, pressing another kiss to his mouth. 

“By the way, you were right.” 

Robbe blinked up at him, confused. “What do you mean?” 

Sander grinned down at him. “If you had waited until the story was finished, I never would’ve seen it,” Sander said. Robbe grinned up at him, pink dusting his cheeks again. “Because, Robbe IJzermans, I’m not intending to let you go anytime soon.”

Robbe smiled, his eyes glossing over. “That’s the same to you, Sander Driesen.” 

Sander pressed another kiss to his lips and Robbe kissed him back, willingly, fervently. Robbe slung one of his arms around Sander’s neck, gripping tighter to his hair, and Sander let out a hum on content. As Sander slid his hand beneath the hem of the shirt Robbe wore, gripping at his bare side, Robbe let out a surprised gasp, wiggling against him as he laughed. 

“Sander,” Robbe managed between kisses. “How are your hands so fucking cold all the time?!”

Sander laughed, breaking the kiss, before running a hand through Robbe’s curls. Smiling up at him, Robbe tilted his head back into the palm of Sander’s hand before reaching up to grasp it in his own. Robbe pressed feather-light kisses to each of his fingers before smiling up at him, looking dazed. “Hey, Robbe,” Sander said. 

“Hmm?” he asked. 

Swallowing nervously, Sander asked, “Since you showed me your video that you made of us, when we go to my apartment to meet with Zoë and Senne, can I show you the sketches that I’ve done with you?” 

“You don’t have to—” 

“I know,” Sander said. “But, I want to.” Robbe stared up at him, his beautiful brown eyes unwavering from his own. Reaching up to brush Robbe’s curls off his forehead, digging his hands through the strands, Sander said, “I want to show you my sketches. I’ve always wanted to show you, but I was always worried about what might happen if I did. But, now, I want to show you how I see you.” 

Robbe smiled up at him, shyly. “I’d love to see your sketches, Sander. All of them. Even the ones you don’t think I’ll like.” 

“Really?” Sander asked.

“Yes,” Robbe said. “I know I’ll love them because I love everything you create.” Smiling up at him, Robbe pushed himself up to press a kiss against Sander’s lips. This kiss was slow and sweet, lingering as their lips pushed together effortless and lovingly. Sander sunk into his embrace, thankful that Robbe was there to steady them, guide them back onto the bed. Pulling away, Robbe pressed a featherlight kiss to Sander’s forehead. “I love you, Sander Driesen.”

“I love you, Robbe IJzermans.”

There was a beat of peaceful silence between them before Robbe said, “We need to get going if we’re going to make it on time for breakfast.” 

Sander chuckled, burying himself further into the crook of Robbe’s neck. Even as his stomach growled for food, Sander found himself less and less willing to sacrifice his current position. “With the number of times that I’ve had to wait on them, the two of them can wait a little while longer for their pancakes.” 

Robbe laughed, so happy and beautiful, that Sander was willing—no, _hoping_ —that he would be able to spend the rest of his life listening to it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're here! The end of an era! 
> 
> Thank you so so much for coming with me on this wild journey as these two idiots in love figure out that they are in fact in love with one another. Thank you to everyone who has supported me in any capacity—from comments to kudos to sending me an ask on Tumblr (which I'm getting to, I promise). Since the beginning of this story's idea in my head (all the way back in official quarantine), I've been hoping to tell the story the way that I wanted and I'm so happy to have shared this all with you. 
> 
> Special shoutout to Tasfia (@sonderthoughthestreets; AO3: Createdforyou) for not only being a kind AND supporting friend but literally reading this chapter scene-by-scene as I finished writing them to let me know if the scenes were good. Also special thanks to the "Alt Er Writer's Block" server for being so supportive and loving as I slowly but surely progressed through this chapter. 
> 
> I hope you all have enjoyed the ride, because I sure as hell have.

**Author's Note:**

> come find me on tumblr!!
> 
> main blog (gifs and rants): rebelrebelprince  
> writing blog: sincerelysobbe


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